I can’t afford to lose an ounce of wisdom, but numbers 17 and 32 have got to go.
I awake from the IV a dazed giddy madman, demanding my “book.”
Slobbering, a Titanic-sized bottom lip, “Bwhere’s by book?!“
Genially, a tech informs me, “You didn’t bring a book. How are you feeling?”
“Oh, ok… bwhere’s by book?!”
“Let’s get up. Slowly.”
She gently occupies my hands. I hear music. Swiveling in the dentistry recliner I rise.
“Take it slow.” She’s like a damn angel.
Holding her hands, hearing the music, I ask, “Do you wan do dans?”
A total pro she fields my lame request, leading me to the recovery room.
“Did I ash abou by book?“
“Yes. Just relax.”
Feeling good, powers of speech emerging, “Ok. Are you available?”
Just then Mom comes in and consoles me. The process is simple and I’m good. Soon after I’m on the road to recovery.
Once home, I deal. The pain. Man! Although a die-hard fan of horror, spitting blood for a day or two is fairly unsettling. I make a show of it for the kids, making this a lesson to brush your teeth. They’re properly appalled.
Now bereft, I’m ok with the loss of 17 and 32, but the aftermath is brutal. Acetaminophen, oxycodone, gargling with salt water, this is for the birds. And eating! How I’ve taken for granted eating whatever I like whenever I want! This is a real pain in the ass. Lost a few pounds, though. I’ll take it.
So, why did I wait so long, as this procedure is generally reserved for college-aged folk? The teeth never gave me a problem. Little cavities dictated their extraction.
Is there a lesson in this twisted fable? Am I less intelligent? Probably. Not sure, though. Too soon to tell. If nothing else, I’ve been spared dry socket. Bizarrely, I joked with the dentistry staff that I might go for the George Washington look. Did you know he had only one natural tooth remaining when he took office? Look at his dogs!
BTW, spell-check thought “oxycodone” was “oxymoron.” Probably right.