Dentists and Klonopin and Bed Wetting

Yesterday (I think it was Wednesday) we went to Provo. My friend Jim Noorlander went with, what a treat! I almost don’t deserve to have such great people around me. You wanna know how great he is? He helped me limp around at the dentist office, the helped get me food at the Golden Corral later when we went to lunch together. He even wiped my nose for me when it was dirty.

I don't know what you think of people who treat you like that, but I know Jim Noorlander is one of the few that I count as my brothers in the fullest sense of that word. If the opportunity arose for me to take his place to give my life for his, Jim would never ask, but I would never hesitate for an instant. Jim goes through some difficult times just now, and thinks he has lost most of what he strove for, but in the greater war, he is one of the mightiest of Heavenly Father's generals, and without his efforts thousands would be lost. Thank God for Jim Noorlander!

Anyway the dental hygienist took xrays and cleaned. We discussed a prosthetic device that will keep me from breaking any further teeth. I need a crown and a filling replaced. It will require at least three return trips to his lab for dental operations.

While the hygienist worked, I noted that some rather large pieces of hard stuff were being flushed away. She said it was broken crown material. I don't remember ever biting my teeth that hard, though I recall irritation with sharps cutting my tongue and cheek.

I have turned into an incessant and ever voluble chatterbox, blabbering all the time about the most inane things. Ruth, the delivering angel, brought some instant dissolving Klonopin yesterday. I don't want it, or most of the other drugs doctors have given me.

[Postscript from Jim's honest alter-ego: I am lying. I am such a liar about the luscious, wonderful, beautiful, heavenly drugs. Please give me drugs that make me feel good. I want them always. Don't let me feel the hurt. I won't do anything bad any more, I'm sorry!, just stop hurting me please, I can do anything you want me to,just give me nice drugs that will stop the hurting, I can't I cannot I cannot hurt any more please stop the hurting before it comes again, I am so afraid of the sharks, I'll do anything you say I promise, I promise Just stop me from hurting, give me those nice drugs that make me feel good and I'm not afraid any more, and everything that is hurting me is going away, please helpme please HELP ME, PLEASE, PLEASE, HELP ME, PLEASE HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]

I put the Klonopin into the hands of my wise mother and father. They have the skill and the experience to see when I can best benefit.

Anyway, last evening I was very distraught, and they decided to administer one of the pills just before I went to bed. It was so effective, I rested on pillows of pure cloud, and did not awake from slumber until a familiar sensation of wetness and warmth raised my awareness to alarm.

I was peeing the bed! I have not done that for more than fifty years!

In the process I tried to aim the stream out off the bed, and discovered that I just could not stand up. I finally located a urinal and squirted a little bit there, but most went on the floor. Okay, the bed was mostly saved. Now I had to just get off the wet stuff.

Pretty pathetic. Pure comedy.

I was convinced that I needed gloves, 'cause all the nurses stop and get them first before they do anything that exposes them to body fluid, I couldn't find any rubber gloves. We have boxes of them around, but that’s another story. I spotted some woolly insulated gloves and put them on best I could, but could not get thumbs in right, no matter how many times I tried.

I was laughing like a crazy man in the mean time, fits of absolute humor about nothing in particular would sweep over me every me every few seconds, and I would just laugh like I never have in my life. Mean time, I am wrapped up in peed-on wet clothing in varying stages of soaking wet and dripping with pee, and stinking with my own urine. It was such a struggle just to remove the wet stuff. Pretty much went okay until the right shoe, then I was stuck, and just hopeless, and took what seemed like an hour to work that damned shoe and sock down, fraction of an inch at a time, and finally I could use the left foot to push the whole wet mess off and and could only find insulated things with wool, so I got the wet stuff off and crawled back into the bed buck naked, clothed with my Cox ATV sports cap and the wool gloves for safety. As I think about it now, I had the gloves on the wrong hands at the time, which is why it was so difficult to get the thumbs to align properly. That seems to be as good a hypothesis as any other, anyway.

I went back to sleep like that, and don't remember anything at all for several hours, but when I awoke, I found was somewhat distressed to find myself and my room so obviously disarrayed. I don’t usually sleep like that.

So I called dad to help.

I am beginning to ask about what options I have. Before, I refused. Now, they begin to seem too real. Will I need these kinds of help soon?


You all know what these are, and you've made and heard the same jokes about them that I have. Now, to me, they have turned into something real and very awful looming in my future. I certainly hope my mission here is done long before that comes to pass. But I WILL endure to the end, COME WHAT MAY. GOD'S WILL BE DONE. It has been too long coming that I gave true recognition to that fact. Thanks and all praise be to Him for His Eternal blessings.

Amen.