Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Drugs, Not Hugs

So for about a decade I had been putting off getting my wisdom teeth pulled, a) because of my deep-rooted hatred of the dentist, b) my fear of getting sick from anesthesia and c) my lack of quality insurance to cover the costs. But I had to bite the bullet finally and get all four taken out recently.

I've never been put to sleep for anything before, but I tell you what, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. It helped that my anesthesiologist reminded me of a flamboyant Tony Shaloub, and he let me talk myself to sleep about my distaste for McDonald's (they gave me happy gas first, and apparently it went to work right away).

Next thing I know, I'm being awakened by a blond nurse I'd never seen before, and I've got a craving for Twinkies and a mouth full of cotton. I think I may have been in the best mood of my life.

My mom was cracking up at me the whole ride home. She has video on her phone of me trying to tell her of my "fabulous" anesthesiologist (which she has shown to every person she has seen since that day). I was numb, drooly and bleeding pretty profusely, but boy, was I jolly. I even tried to go in Walgreens with her to pick up my pain meds.
Me, grunting: Ont oo in, oo.
Mom: You want to go it?
Me: *nods*
Mom: You sure about that? *flips down visor mirror*
Me, noting the streaks of blood and drool ALL OVER MY FACE: Uhhh, uh uh.
Mom: Didn't think so.

Spent the rest of the weekend popping pain meds and eating mashed potatoes and milkshakes. Not a bad life, I tell you. Didn't get sick, didn't really swell up, wasn't the worst weekend I've ever had by far.

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