THE WISDOM PARABLE + APARTMENT TOUR
Just kidding, this isn’t really a parable. I don’t have that kind of time or literary ability. I like sarcasm and short sentences. And run on sentences. I’m a fan of the Hemingway technique. Anyway, I decided to wait until after the Christmas for this story because the gift guides were so juicy and fun to write. But I did promise my wisdom tooth story. So here’s a little short one. And because the story isn’t that interesting, here’s a my little apartment tour – that I may need to update because my Naughty List decorations will not be out all year. No matter how much I love them.
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THE WISDOM PARABLE
So, I hate dentists. Hate, I tell you. My dentist takes no offense at this because she’s a wonderful human being. But this was not my dentist, this is an oral surgeon. It’s all the things I fear in life wrapped up into two little words. I’m exaggerating. Anyway, the week leading up to the surgery I experienced full blown panic mode. I had never been put under before and I expected the worst. What was I going to say?; I tried not to think about anything inappropriate leading up to the surgery because I didn’t want that on my brain coming out. I ended up thinking about coffee. I hadn’t eaten or drank anything since the night before, and without coffee I’m worthless.
When we got there, I was hot and then cold and a nervous wreak. They had to hydrate me since I hadn’t had any water, and that stuff was cold. Not to mention I could feel. the. IV. in. my. vein. This is why I hate having my blood drawn or any kind of needle for any purpose. The nursing staff were the best, totally put up with me and brought me a blanket, after I decided I didn’t need one then changed my mind, before I went under. Once it was time for the actual surgery, the surgeon came in and switched to the anesthetic. He said I would start to feel woozy after about 15 seconds. I started counting. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. “Yeah, I’m feeling it now.”
Lights out.
When I came to, I was not in pain. I was not afraid. I didn’t even realize my mouth was full of gauze. So I immediately tried asking the nurse, “Can you please bring me my teeth so I can run an isotope analysis?” Ashleigh, could you be any nerdier? She didn’t understand me, so I pointed at my purse, which she handed to me. I took out my notebook and scribbled the question. It didn’t realize what had happened until I saw my horribly sloppy handwriting. Oh, yeah, surgery. Being the awesome people they are, they brought me my teeth in a little package.
I popped right up, though the nurse tried to help me, and walked out of the operating room. I felt like I had just taken a shot. Definitely not suitable to drive, but definitely functional. We were all surprised that I had such a minor response to the anesthetic, but maybe we shouldn’t have been: my brother went to work after he had his removed!
I waited for my Nana to have one of her trouble teeth pulled, got a selfie with the doc (see below), and then Papa took us to Starbucks! We couldn’t talk, and Papa wasn’t coming in to order for us, so I pulled out my trusty notebook and wrote in our orders and my name. The barista just laughed, “Wisdom teeth?” Nod.
RECOVERY
The pain started about when I got home, maybe three hours after the surgery. I needed to take a pain killer, but couldn’t feel my lip to sip from a cup. Now, I’m not a partier, by any means. But I’ve been to enough to know how to drink from a bottle poured over my head. I like to show off, okay? So, I tilted my head up, dropped in a hydrocodone and an antibiotic and poured the cup of water down. Not a dribble down my chin. My mom thought it was hilarious, I was pretty proud. Then I went to bed, because ow. It took forever for the bleeding to stop, I had to change the gauze every half hour for the rest of the night. I was miserable.
Fortunately, my face really didn’t swell, so that was nice. But the little it did, it swelled up right at the bottom of my cheeks, especially on the right side. I thought I looked like a bulldog. My friend DJ told me I looked like Richard Nixon. I died, hydrocodone is a wonderful thing. I laughed so hard, and the little I was able to eat tasted so good. Painkillers do wonders for me and my taste buds. And it’s a good thing because I spent the next week in so much pain. I spent as much of it as I could in bed, and just tried to enjoy the simple pleasures: infinite naps and unusually scrumptious soft snacks.
TIME FOR A TRIM
A few days post surgery I got my haircut. I love the length. I love that I was able to donate 12 inches (Pantene Beautiful Lengths). But the color just isn’t what I wanted. I mean, in looks nice (see below), it looks really nice, but it’s just not what I wanted. I’m making it work, I’ll decide what to do with it in January.
And that’s my story. Ambiguous internet points to you if you read it all. :p
