In late September, I was, like many of you, feeling rather stressed. Between the election, the pandemic, the hurricanes, the wildfires, etc., I was sleeping very little. And when I did sleep, my dreams were filled with nightmare scenarios of actual events or of possible future ones.

On this one Friday, I made three terrible errors: I skipped dinner, stayed up late and then allowed myself to sleep in. This meant that when I finally reemerged from Morpheus’ realm, I was hungry, thirsty and achy from bed. After Marcus and I took a hot shower to get out the kinks in my muscles, we planned to dress then go downstairs for a spot of tea and a bite to eat. At the very end of the shower, though, I felt myself growing dizzy. I got out, wrapped myself in a towel and closed my eyes to keep the room from spinning. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor in a pool of blood.

Sometime between closing my eyes and Marcus toweling himself dry, I had fainted and fallen face-first on hard tile.

When I came to, I discovered that I had made a complete mess of my face: two black eyes, a swollen nose, a bruised mouth, a split lip and a chipped tooth. Several of my front teeth were also loose. Which meant, as much as I wanted to avoid it, a trip to the dentist was in order.

Once I was able to get downstairs, I also learned that Ruth Bader Ginsburg had just died. As you can imagine, that prompted even more tears.

I’ve been avoiding the dentist for much of 2020. I was only scheduled for annual checkups and deep cleanings, however, the pandemic meant those appointments had to be canceled. First, the state’s lockdown closed the dentist offices to all but emergencies. When the lockdown lifted, I continued to delay my visits because I didn’t want to risk catching the coronavirus. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m in the high-risk category, which means if I contract COVID-19, I’m likely dead. Getting my teeth cleaned just didn’t seem worth the risk.

Now, I had no choice. After allowing the swelling to go down, I ended up visiting the dentist, the periodontist and the orthodontist — all in the span of a single week. Following numerous consultations, examinations and scans, the docs discovered that I’d also fractured my jaw and would need a lot of work done to set things right.

On Thursday morning, after finishing a 10-hour shift, I began another round of visits, this time to repair the damage that was done. In the end, I had several teeth pulled, the area prepped for implants and then a full set of braces installed. The procedures — complete with numerous interactions with terrifying needles — felt like fucking torture. I was in agony. I was bleeding. And I couldn’t stop shaking throughout the hours of procedures.

I’ve spent the weekend recuperating and while I’m feeling a bit better, it will take me quite a while to adjust to the soreness and the pressure on my teeth and gums that the dental work has wrought. As anyone with braces can tell you, they’re incredibly uncomfortable, particularly when you first start wearing them. I will be doing so for the next two years, followed by several more years of nocturnal retainer usage. Since I’m unable to eat anything other than applesauce, soup and mashed potatoes, I’m already down seven pounds. Yet the very thought of trying to chew anything, no matter how delicious, fills me with dread.

Hopefully, this too will pass. The experts have even promised me that I can expect to be back to eating normally by the time Thanksgiving arrives, which is good because I’m already planning on making a full feast of turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, salad, deviled eggs, biscuits, cranberry sauce, cherries jubilee and a pumpkin pie.

In the meantime, I must continue to wait for the pain and discomfort to subside. Just don’t expect me to smile until at least 2022.