The oral surgeon is always a fun person to visit. Mine has about fifty subscriptions to every sort of health, beauty, science and political journal spread out on a table in his drab waiting room. He never makes anyone wait long - so the magazines always look perfectly organized - and then lavishes attention upon his patients - a sure sign of a good doctor.
On Friday I went in to have all four wisdom teeth extracted. Before I knew it, a mask was placed on my nose, my brain lost a grasp on whatever it was I'd been thinking and I passed out. When the nurses woke me and led me back to a bed to lie on, I was furious they hadn't performed the surgery yet - why were they making me wait? A lick of my blood-encrusted lips told me that time had lied and they were already done. I began to sob.
The nurses took me back to a chair to do some last minute things to my face. Why awaiting their final attentions I said, "Gosh, I'm really gonna miss my teeth!" (Har har). When they looked blankly back at me and asked why, I stated simply, "well, I was sorta attached to them for a while..." Perhaps they thought that no one could possibly make a pun while high on as many painkillers as I (or maybe they couldn't appreciate my ridiculously obvious sense of humor) because they fumbled in the back for a moment and then handed me four bloody molars sealed in a plastic bag. Think the tooth fairy pays for big people teeth too?
I spent the weekend enjoying pudding, jello and eventually pizza. The oxycodone helped a lot. I actually thought I'd weathered the whole experience rather well until I spoke with some friends today. Apparently I had a lot of conversations that I don't really remember having...
Good thing I was blogging on those days!
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