Other than the bit where they hit a nerve, causing my entire body to jackknife in shock (and pain, of course, but like an electric shock, it was less identifiable pain and more of just a profound jolt) and the bit where the hygenist caught the corner of my mouth in the locking mechnism of the pliers and the bit where the dentist accidentally grazed the inside of my lip with the drill, it was painless.
Back pain gone, root canal finished, cat-related grief subsiding to manageable levels. (I still miss the big lug, but life goes on) The week of Generalized Misery has passed. That which does not kill us makes us stronger.
“That’s a load of crap,” my mother said, upon hearing me wax Nietzchesque. “Sometimes that which does not kill you leaves you permanently weakened and vulnerable to whatever comes along.” And while she is undeniably correct, (and apologized a minute later for raining on my attempt at a philosophical parade) I’m fairly sure this is not such an incident.
Although of course my resistance to small, fuzzy fat kittens who want to cling to me and purr has been permanently destroyed, and I am going to be weak there for life and vulnerable to any waddling furball that may come along. I will try to hold out for a month or two, but I am aware of my own suckerdom for felinity, and sooner or later one will beat me down. My friend Kathy suggests that I take the brick to the pound and choose my next cat based on which one falls in love, an excellent suggestion (even if the people there will look at me funny.)
Life goes on.