When I went in for the surgery this morning I was exhausted and slightly jittery. The whole thing reminded me all too much of highschool, with my dad driving me and the day promising to suck-like-hell by virtue of our destination.
I don't remember falling asleep. Emily told me she knew the exact second she was going under, but she had full anesthesia, with the counting backwards and all that. Actually, I might have had the counting backwards too. It's frustrating not to know. I do remember telling the doctor that my veins don't do intravenous that well, they hide and roll, and he listened and put the needle in the back of my hand. Then he said "You're going to start feeling dozy now", and I thought "Okay, I wonder what that'll be like". Then I thought "Am I dozy?", and that was it.
They woke me up and walked me to a recovery room. I don't remember getting to the bed, not really, but I remember how happy I was that it was there. It was the most comfy bed in the world. The blanket they put over me was the coziest blanket ever made. They left and I forgot who they were. Then a nurse came in and I asked her how it went. I couldn't understand myself because my face was numb and full of gauze, but she told me it went well and that I hadn't needed stitches. Then, she left and came back with my dad, who I couldn't acknowledge for a minute or two because I was busy being stoned and poking my tongue. It was dry, like the skin on a cooked fish. I hadn't been allowed to eat or drink after midnight. I asked the nurse for water but she said she couldn't give me any. She changed the gauze in my mouth and it came out dripping red. That was pretty impressive. Behind the curtain beside my bed I could hear another stuffed-mouth person asking another nurse how it went. Her nurse said she'd needed stiches on the roof of her mouth, but not the bottom. "HA. BEAT YOU." I thought. Thank you lord for teaching me humility.
Eventually I could sit up and ask for my teeth, which they brought to me in a Dixie cup, and then I could stand. We walked out through a special entrance so that the people in the waiting room wouldn't see me, which seemed to contradict the whole "It went well" thing, but I guess even a model patient such as myself is still pretty gross. What with the oozing blood and the mumbling and being lead by the arm. You know.
At home I slept and bled. Now I'm awake and sober and bleeding. The Moderne Burger folks sent my dad home with a free milkshake for me, which I wasn't allowed to drink with a straw, (blasphemy), and I drank a happy planet. Painkillers are nice.
11 comments:
Yours weren't taken out all in one piece? That seems kind of sad, for the teeth. And scary too. I don't like to think of teeth cracking and breaking. No cracking and breaking!
And did you have them out at different times? (I'm almost 100% certain that you did say you'd had yours out, but forgive me if I just made that up).
That comment was meant for the post below, in answer to what Sachi posted. I'm really quite sober.
I've only had one taken out. I guess it was sort of old and solid and perhaps a bit impacted, so it couldn't just be yanked out.
Sedatives are fun but weird. How is it possible that pain can be entirely erased?
hey claire, feel better soon!
Pain is just a state of mind, man! It's also a four-letter word for nothin' left to lose! I love hippie slogans. I also can't remember when I got mine out, but I did.
Thanks Kate. I feel fine now, but they told me I might wake up tomorrow all swollen and horrible. We shall see.
Funny that only one of yours was impacted, Sachi. Or maybe that isn't unusual. Was it causing you mouth problems? Mine were making my gums all humpy. And not in the way that Moss was all humpy on Saturna, thank you. I have chaste gums.
Now I want to hear Kimi's wisdom tooth story, if she has one, which I'm sure she does. Wisdom tooth stories are the latest craze.
And Marc: Did you just comment on my blog? BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE WACKY AND NEW. No, really, thank you. Thank you so much. Please keep doing that? And cut your hair, dirty hippy. (Seriously though, don't). I'm so conflicted.
I saw a guy who looked just like Mr. Rosso the other day on the Fir exit of Granville St bridge. I almost gave him the peace sign, poor fool.
I forgot to mention that Mr. Rosso alias Dave "Gruber" Allen was on King of the Hill! As a hippie! I think he co-starred with Fred Willard, who played a park ranger. Gruber was also a background player in one of the scenes in Anchorman. He is all over.
Seelook: Marc shuts down his blog and becomes addicted to commenting. IT'S A SIGN THAT THERE'S NO TURNING BACK! Get that puppy up and running!
Oh Clairey, I think the panhandler man we were discussing the other day was killed in a car accident the other day. A largish 48-year-old man who pans from downtown to Kerrisdale, being at times witty and other times intimidating? Killed by a speeding kid on Robson street.
Wow, yeah. That certainly sounds like him, although I hadn't seen him in Kerrisdale since he got more intimidating and less, uh, witty. People lost patience with him (me included) and he may have been arrested once they passed a bylaw about it.
The last time I saw him (after we were taking about him, I think?) he looked half his size, no longer like "the king of bums" in a comic strip, and I thought he looked really sick, in the chronic, probably final way that street people can get.
But yeah, it was a rough passage through life for that guy. I feel more sympathy towards him now than I did when he was alive. Forever sleep, homeless man I loathed.
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