Brickmouth

I woke this morning to a freakishly huge swollen lower lip. It was gross. I've had a fat lip before, and this was worse. And the sores inside my lip had become excruciating painful. Eating breakfast, I felt like the Elephant Man.

Thank the good Lord that I have to wear a mask while I am in Cancerville Clinic so I didn't have to endure stares from people wondering who'd be so bold as to punch Leukemia Girl in the mouth. The nurses and nurse-practitioners all gathered 'round to give my lip a good stare. Kevin, the nurse-practitioner I normally see, asked me if I had anything for pain. After my "Nuh" reply, he asked if I wanted anything. My eyes went buggy as I nodded my head. When he warned me that the painkillers could make me constipated, I said, "Yuh. I cuhn deawl."

The swelling has gone down considerably since then, but I've still got this nasty red burn-looking sore along the inside of the lip. But I've also got some cream with which to treat the sore.

And my new friend.

Oxycodon.

Ahhhhhhhhhh. No more feeling like my mouth was scorched earth. Just feeling good.

What cracks me up about the trials and tribulations of my treatment is that I can't have the typical symptoms. Everyone always asks about nausea, which I've never had. No, I get a funky-monkey case of brickmouth. Nonconformist to the core.

My latest Cannonball Read book report went up today. Give Pajiba some traffic and read all about it.