Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Mush Mouth

I used to enjoy going to the dentist. Honestly I did. When I was a child the dentist was yet another adult who would smile down on me and praise my general awesomeness because I never had a cavity. EVER. (Still haven't! Score!) Plus, it didn't hurt that I got to get a toy out of the toy bin because I was sweet child without a sweet tooth!

Then came the time to have my wisdom teeth extracted from my head. I say extracted from my head because the dentist had to cut them out of my jaw which is really just an extenuation of my head. And it was a tragic event requiring a hyperbolized account.

I want to start off by saying that I have never appreciated my mother more than I did in the debacle that was my wisdom teeth extraction surgery. She quickly proved her mettle. to the dentist I go. He mentions that I should probably go ahead and have my wisdom teeth extracted, even though the year before he said that I had enough room in my head for them and the rest of my 28 teeth. to the oral surgeon I go.

My oral surgeon confirms his opinion and says that he'll have to cut them out of my head/jaw and that I'll need to be under 'light sedation.'

     Me: Light sedation?

     Him: Yes. Light sedation.

     Me: I want to be asleep.

     Him: You will be.

     Me: No, you don't understand. I Need to be asleep.

     Him: You will be.

     Me: Like for real asleep. I don't want to be conscious at all.

     Him: If you wake up you won't remember it.
      *Remember this last part.

We schedule the appointment.

My mother, at the time, was starting a contract job where she would be flying back and forth to Florida every week. It was under her strong suggestion that I move my surgery up to when she would be in town to take care of me because she thought I couldn't handle this without her. She was correct. She woke me up every hour to replace the ice packs on my jaw and slid pieces of bread soaked in chicken broth down my throat so I wouldn't die of starvation. (Never more in my life have I ever wanted to just die on the spot than when I was sitting in my mother's bathroom floor staring into the toilet, having just retched all the blood plugs out of the holes in my head, where I should have had teeth, because I cannot stomach prescription pain meds.  I just sobbed like a little child and my mother in her infinite wisdom just let me sit there and feel sorry for myself for a little while. She then collected me and poured me back into bed with several Tylenols and another helping of chicken flavored bread.) Previous to all of this I was living with my two bestest girlfriends and they should take time to say a quiet thank you to my mother for preventing me from lying in my bed at the house whining and bleeding everywhere. I'm not easy to deal with when I'm in pain.

The morning of the day of the surgery comes. I'm a little nervous. Mom makes me wear a button up shirt with my sweat pants; I look like a freaking retard.

Enter the nurse:

     Nurse Doom: Anna, we're ready for you.

We both stand up to go back with Nurse Doom.

     Nurse Doom: Ma'am. You're not allowed to go back with her. You'll have to wait out here.


     Mom: You'll be back out here in 5 minutes to get me anyway, so I'll just come on back now.

At this point I have pretty much reached hysteria. I'm about 3 burst blood vessels shy of a full blown apoplectic fit. Maybe it was the fear of being put under and dying that scared me, but I'm pretty sure it may have been that I saw my oral surgeon cackling like a mad man and rubbing his hands together in that whole 'I'm installing miniature spy cams in people's gums and taking OVER THE WORLD' fashion. Creepy. Panic ensues. I may have even begged for my life at this point; I can't remember. They finally get the IV into my arm and as I'm drifting off to Never-Neverland my mother is stroking my forehead and assuring me that I'll survive. I also think she mumbled to Nurse Doom that she may want to go ahead and restrain me. I don't know why.

An eternity goes by and I wake up. I notice a really bright light in my eyes. Then, there is a steady, striking, pressure in my mouth. Naturally I'm confused, so I open my eyes. They seem to not follow my instructions. As I start to regain consciousness I realize that the striking pressure in my mouth is Doctor Mengele pounding on my head WITH A HAMMER. My eyes immediately begin to work and I proceed to flip out.

In retrospect it's a good thing my mother had them restrain me because I was not a very happy camper that day at Camp Punish-me-ka-wa. I now know why cops are always afraid of people that are high. It's because they're insane and violent and often very very afraid and very very dangerous. Needless to say they pumped more drugs into me and off I drifted back to la-la land. All the while I was sort of awake I was mumbling very nasty things to Dr. & Nurse Pain. The key to this part of the story is that you'll notice that A) I woke up and B) I remember it.

Finally they get done. Apparently it took longer than anticipated and that's why I woke up, or it could have been that I was highly anxious when they administered the drugs or maybe because I was kind of drinking a lot at the time and my liver was the size of a basketball. Either way I woke the fuck up and as Nurse Doom is explaining what happened to my mother I'm yelling garbled obscenities as loud as humanly possible when one literally has 'cotton-mouth' (from the drugs and all of the cotton taking residence in my mouth to soak up the gallons of blood). Then I threw up on the wall just for effect. So now there is blood, vomit and cotton on the walls of the Concentration Camp Oral Surgery Center and the obscenities are no longer hindered by a mouth full of stuff. Needless to say, I was not invited back for another stay at Camp Castigation.

On the way home packed with fresh cotton and more blood, I finally pass out. My mother must have floated me into my bedroom at her house because I don't remember walking. Also she took off my shirt and put on my pajamas so I guess wearing the button up shirt was smart on her part because I didn't have to be involved in its extraction from my person.

My next memory is of my father, who has always had a very weak stomach, looking rather piqued at all the blood and gore. In my haze I realize instantly that my father doesn't know what happened! So I proceed to tell him the story and get all riled up again and the obscenities begin flying, again.  To his credit he affirms all of my suspicions of Nazi conspiracies in dental implants and agrees that Dr. Mengele should have his license revoked.

He then looks at my mother and says:

     'Pam, is she alright? I can't understand a word she's saying. She's got mush mouth.' 

Who then says:

     'Steve, she's so high on those drugs I don't think we'd understand her even without all the cotton. You should have seen the fit she pitched at the oral surgeon's office. She kept going on and on like that; I can't imagine that she's happy. Do you want a cup of coffee?'

Geez, I thwart a modern day Nazi scheme and all they do is drink coffee.

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