I didn't die

Friday, June 12, 2015

In fact, I feel pretty decent, considering this came out of my mouth:

I've named it Monica, to honor the coworker who was part of The Incident.

(The secret tooth that was hidden in my upper jaw was also extracted. Sadly, I did not take photos of it because it was broken into two pieces during surgery and was a lot smaller than I thought it would be. I kind of wanted it to be more dramatic -- like with a tiny, partially formed skeleton attached, thus confirming the existence of my secret twin. Because who isn't obsessed with the possibility of a secret twin that was somehow absorbed into your body so then you spend your life living for the two of you but never realize it until later?)

The procedure was fairly straightforward. The doctor and nurses talked to me about cats and triathlon (my oral surgeon rides in Kona with triathletes and liked how I was wearing an IMAZ shirt to the appointment!) until I went under. And then the surgery was over, and I woke up and said: "Did I fall asleep?" And the nurse said: "Yes, for a little while." And then she put me in a wheelchair and took me to the car, and then Annie drove me home.

And I didn't really do or say anything wacky while drugged. Unless you count making up a song about being on drugs and singing it loudly to my swim buddy over the phone. Oh, and refusing to take more drugs until I had meticulously decorated my prescription bottles with stickers so Annie and I would be able to know which meds were which because safety first. (The Vicodin now bears a "Party Time" sticker.)

I spent the rest of the day eating pudding and mashed potatoes, but craving Doritos and steak. And getting out of bed and trying to do chores, only to have Annie ask me what I was doing and send me back to bed. And then Heidi and Belle and Julie came over to check on me. And I felt so happy about having such good friends who love me even if I look like this: 


That's right: I rocked a headband around my face because I needed to keep pressure on the gauze in my mouth so the surgery area could clot. (I don't know what's a more disgusting word -- "clot" or "moist." Ick. Shivers.)

Thankfully, I was able to wear my denture flipper immediately after the surgery, so there was no traumatizing gap.

Not bad, modern dentistry. Not bad.

And I can also talk, which is a huge relief. Although I did learn one very important lesson today: Do not play Cards Against Humanity right after you've hard oral surgery because the chances that you will laugh so hard you spit blood all over the deck are very, very high.

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