Home remedies can so rock

After work last night I paid a visit to the Butcher of Prague (aka my dentist) and despite my cruel moniker, he is a charming urban man in a true old world eastern European mode. Since entering my 40’s, I have been plagued with tooth trouble for the first time in my life. Luckily for me he is also highly skilled professional. I had steeled myself for a root canal but he says no, and managed to just fill the cavity. Although, I have to say, every time the freezing wears off after a visit, my mouth hurts for a few days, hence, the moniker.

I had been dealing with the pain by sucking back great quantities of Advil every few hours for the last two weeks so I could function as a barely rabid human being until the Butcher finished his vacation frolic. By Sunday afternoon, I was not sure if I could last until his return to business as usual, so in desperation, I decided to give my grandmother’s cure all for toothache pain a shot. Unlike many of her home remedies, this one wasn’t a pain based cure. Trust me, sticking garlic cloves up one’s nose for a cold and stuffy nose is not a singularly pleasant experience. I spent most of my childhood colds around her trying to deny I was sick rather than risk the garlic cure and endure the garlic burning in my nostrils.

Forty-eight hours after taking her cure I was pain free and I cannot believe it actually worked. The cure – Cognac, good quality, premium Cognac, as when in pain, the cheap is not the way to go. Two good stiff shots of premium Cognac sipped slowly and savoured in one’s mouth for a 20 second count before swallowing. Now I am rather a small at woman at 5’1”; so larger people may need to double the dose. By Tuesday morning, I woke up completely pain free. Cognac killed the pain completely while Advil only took part of the edge off.

I have always loved Cognac but I had given up drinking it because of its distressing effects on me and my body. If I consume too much of it I get far too hot for clothes and contribute the consumption of Cognac as the direct cause for all of my birth control methods failing which resulted in three pregnancies within a four year span. In fact, when I was pregnant with the Last Amazon, I really wanted to name her Remy-Marie after my favourite Cognac but I got shouted and hissed down from everyone on that score.

Anyway, I was feeling far too fragile after my visit to the Butcher’s to watch either the English language Canadian debates or the US Vice Presidential debates on television, and so, I took to my bed with the Remy-Martin placed strategically on my nightstand. I don’t expect I missed much – although I suppose I could be wrong…but I somehow doubt it.