You guys remember the depression nest right? The post break up bear den of sadness that you feather with tissues and Brat Pack DVDs? Right. Imagine that, but pepper it now with Vicodin and a Kindle, featuring not only an unshowered sad sack of snot but also a puffy face and a physical inability to eat solid foods. Sounds super emo, right?
Two days ago I had my lone wisdom tooth removed. It came in about six years ago but was fine really and didn’t cause any problems. I only got the one. I hate, let me repeat HATE, the dentist so I had it checked then when it started coming in and then left it alone. Back then the dentist told me I should probably pull it as a precaution because eventually it would cause problems. I shrugged it off with a “we’ll see about that, pointy stick voodoo man” and when it started getting achey and throbby a few months ago I just chewed on the other side of my mouth. Problem solved.
Two weeks ago it started causing problems that couldn’t be solved by soft foods and aversion so I scheduled an appointment to get it extracted. Generally I have to be sedated before I even get to the office for a cleaning, so I made it clear the only way this was going down is if they put me all the way out to take the tooth out. A little xanax before the appointment and off I went. The doc introduced himself to me and I caught “Hi, I’m Doctor….” before I passed the fuck out. I woke up to a nurse telling me I had a panic attack coming out of anesthesia (which is normal for me) and they gave me valium. Woo. Bonus.
Half way home I look in the vanity mirror and notice I have strings hanging out of my mouth. At this point it’s been 10 hours since I’ve had any food or drink so the only thing in my system is Xanax, IV anesthesia and Valium. In my delirious state I assume they’ve used a tampon to pack the socket where my tooth used to be. I also decide to take my confusion to Facebook (natch.) and post a picture of myself looking smokin’ hot with no make up, puffy faced, druggy eyes and what I assume to be tampon strings hanging out of my mouth.
Fast forward to today. (Mostly because I don’t remember yesterday at all.) I wake up this morning with every intention of going to work. Then I realize a few things: 1) I look like Marlin Brando 2) I sound like I’ve been smoking unfiltered tobacco and fiberglass for at least 40 years and 3) my guts are threatening actions akin to Pompeii. Obviously I call in sick. I lay back down. I pray for sweet sweet death.
Then the worst thing that has ever happened to me happens: I throw up. I throw up without being able to open my mouth more than about a half inch because of aforementioned Brando Face. Pompeii has erupted through the eye of a needle. It is horrible. It is the worst possible conclusion to a morning fraught with agony and pain.
I clean myself up, I swish with salt water. I pray to Sky Wizard for the end to be near. And then I do what comes naturally, I make myself a cup of tea and bring it to the blog.
Let me tell you folks, after my harrowing experience this morning I want nothing more than to bury myself in pain killers and fro yo, but I can’t get comfortable and the idea of ingesting anything that could possible come back on me sounds like a losing bet. So I’m writing it all out and hoping that focusing on the blinking cursor keeps the ick at bay. So far so good.
What I should be doing is writing an article that is due by this weekend to my editor. Or maybe putting away the ironing board that has become a receptacle for all the mail I have ever received in my life. Or showering. Showering could be beneficial too.
Yeah. None of those are going to happen so I’ll go back to watching 30 Rock and spooning the dog. If ya’ll have any tips for how to survive the seventh ring of hell that is post wisdom teeth extraction, hit me up. What can I eat that isn’t chicken broth or pudding?