After about 45 weeks of almost flawless fitment, my Invisalign trays started to get out of whack at the end of last month, specifically the top sets. Usually they go in with a nice satisfying click as they fit around the little nubs glued to your teeth (the trays need something to grab onto), but mine weren’t clicking. The tray was hanging down more and more to the point where I couldn’t wear them during the day because they gave me a horrible slobbering lisp. I checked in with the orthodontist, they rescanned my upper and lower palate, and I picked up two new boxes of trays the other day. When I put the top set in I got the click and they fit perfectly. I put the newest set in Tuesday night and I can tell they’re now working on moving my premolars outward to continue making room for the front teeth—which are almost straight—because the premolars are sore as shit. I’ve got about 30 weeks left in the series, which will put me somewhere around the end of the year for a straighter smile.
There’s a good way to find out how much cough syrup you have in your medicine cabinet: stagger into the bathroom at 2:30am after you’ve hacked your way through four long dark hours, and then rustle through the contents—making sure you don’t drop everything and wake up your wife. I brought some kind of viral throat ailment home last week and thoughtfully gave it to Jen. Our doctor helpfully told me it wasn’t the strep and sent me home to find some chloraseptic, and the two days following my visit I felt about as fine as a viral infection would let me, so I thought I was better.
Saturday we decided to marshall our strength and focus it out in our yard. I got up early to check out some of the local yard sales in our neighborhood, but in a rare moment of better judgement, I resisted the urge to buy stuff and picked up eight bags of mulch for the bushes instead. Between the two of us, we got the both planters installed in front of the greenhouse, the day lilies replanted from the east flowerbed, the vines on the west side cut back (not without a light dose of posion ivy for your enterprising correspondent), the front hedges mulched, and I replaced the nasty lattice holding up the grape vines with a sturdy frame of square posts.
All this activity was apparently not what I needed, because it was impossible to fall asleep last night. The throat affliction was back, and worse than ever. We both woke up groaning and decided a trip to DC for the cherry blossom festival was not on our dance card. We hit the store and stocked up on vitamin-C based products, medicine, and cookies, and headed home. Jen suggested we detour past a local house which advertises fresh honey for sale, so we drove past and noticed a fellow out back digging post holes among a group of hives. The lady who met us in the driveway offered honey and bee pollen, and we chatted with her about their hobby. Soon her husband joined us, and he offered the five-cent tour around his backyard, as well as offering his help in starting our own hive. While the idea is an exciting one, we decided next year might be better for us. (Natural honey is delicious, by the way.) We took it easy for the rest of today. Two episodes of Ken Burns’ Jazz, some warm tea, and fresh warm air (as well as 500mg of cold remedy) have done good things for me; hopefully some robitussin and a good night’s sleep will help as well.
Postscript: Turns out the Prednisone I had left over from the last case of poison ivy is probably not the best thing to take right now; it reduces swelling but also weakens the body’s immune system.