I need Wisdom Teeth like I need 4 new holes in my head (oh wait...)

It is no surprise I recently had all 4 of my wisdom teeth removed. I whined about it to anyone who would listen, and basically gave a play-by-play of the aftermath going on in my mouth through my Facebook status updates.

Long story short...it was awful. Majorly impacted. Sinus cavities penetrated. Week and a half off of work to recover. Shards of jaw bone working their way through my gums. It was gnarly.

But, I won't bore you with the details. I'll just bore you with the funny stuff that happened during my "recovery" (which felt more like assault and battery, but whose counting stitches?)

Story #1

Leaving the surgeon's office directly after the procedure, my mouth was shoved full of gauze to soak up the bleeding. The problem was that we had to drive 20 minutes to get to my pharmacist to fill the prescriptions, and then sit in the drive-thru pharmacy line for another 10 minutes. We learned very quickly that gauze is finite, and will only hold a certain amount of blood. After that, you're on your own. So sitting in the passenger seat, waiting patiently for the drive-thru drug-giver to dole us out the goodies, it all went down. Blood started pouring out of my mouth. It was running down my chin. Dripping onto my shirt. I was gagging from swallowing so much of it. At one point I started to spit it onto the floor of the truck. Combine this with the spaced-out after effects of the anesthesia and you can imagine the sight. Head lolling to one side. Blood and drool spewing from my mouth. Eyes unable to stay open and focused. Moaning loudly and incoherently. That's right, dear Pharmacist...the Zombie Apocalypse is upon us. Now give me the stinkin' drugs or I will come through that giant glass window and start nomming at your brains.

Story #2
So Boyfriend had been planning on coming over to check on me after the surgery. He tried to make it sound all "Oh sweetie, I just want to check on you and make sure you're okay", but really I know he was really just hoping to get a good laugh out of my post-anesthesia daze and to probably make fun of my chipmunk cheeks. When I got home from surgery, thanks to the anesthesia making me cra-cra-crazy, I became very worried about him coming over and making sure everything was "just so". (Sooooooo not me, right?!) I couldn't talk, but started to scrawl little nuggets of nuttiness to my mother about him coming over. Here is one of my favorites...

Clearly, bathroom reading material had become enough of a warped-concern for me that I went to the energy and effort of putting some books on the back of the toilet tank so that if Boyfriend had to use the bathroom while he was visiting he would have something to read. Cuz that's a normal priority when you are fresh out of surgery, right? Also, "potty"? Really?

Story #3


I had finally settled down into my favorite cushion crack of the sofa, and we were watching TV later that night. Still fighting the anesthesia, and now my loopiness is compounded by the fistful of drugs I was prescribed. I remember the E! True Hollywood Story of Dog the Bounty Hunter was on TV (seriously, why?). I started pointing to everyone who popped up on the screen, saying "You get a divorce!", "YOU get a divorce,"  "AND YOU get a divorce!", but in the Oprah "You get a car" voice. I don't even like Oprah. Or Dog the Bounty Hunter. Or divorce. But apparently the drugs loooooved that combination.




Story #4

Another note from that night...this time written to Boyfriend.

Why the heck was I trying to give away the ice cream in my house?!?!? That ice cream was specifically bought for me! And since when does my brain use the word "sammies" instead of "sandwiches"? Apparently I become Rachel Ray when I'm on drugs.

The next time I am playing nurse for one of my recently-recovered friends, you can bet I will be expecting bathroom reading material and ice cream sammies, or I am SOOOOO walking!


Cellulite and Tell You Right,
Andy