Friday, December 12, 2008

teeth

I have major teeth issues.

I love brushing my teeth. I hate flossing. There is no explanation for either of those little factoids. I just DO, that's all.

The noises that grate on me worse than anything are noises produced by applying one's teeth together. Clacking, chewing, grinding, it doesn't matter. I will instantaneously want to kill you if you choose to make that sort of noise. Or if you do it accidentally. I'm totally fair that way. Equal opportunity for all and whatnot.

I believe I have always been this pleasant to be around way. Naturally charming, that's me.

But I do love crunchy foods. Is that weirder?

So I'm thinking about teeth-related things and stuff today because The Mister participated in Mama's Losin' It: Writer's Workshop, and has posted about getting his wisdom teeth removed on his, umm, twenty-somethingeth birthday. I'll go conservative and say 25th. Why is that? No, not because I'm super-sensitive about my dear darling husband's age, I will always be the first to inform anyone of the fact that I am his MUCH YOUNGER BRIDE. I chose 25th because The Mister's Mom stopped aging at 49, and we all stopped aging at 25, so we are all 25 from the time we actually turned 25 until we die. Which was really great when I was 25, because I looked young for my age. But when I'm really and truly 86 and going on 25? I will look like CRAP for a 25 year-old. But my 49 year-old MIL will probably be dead then (and I will still be mourning her, for the record), so I could probably get away with going by my real-life-actual age. And besides, if I'm always 25, when will my children get their chance to provide for me? Let us not deny them their birthright!

But I digress.

I had my wisdom teeth out when I was seventeen. Due to my diligence as a thumb-sucker until the ripe old age of 11 5, I had quite effectively narrowed the space between my molars...and not the adjacent molars, mind you, the molars that wave to each other from either sides of my mouth. Add that to having a naturally small mouth to begin with (oh shut up, really, a doctor said so), and those wisdom teeth needed to be gauged out with sharp sticks surgically removed.

I remember meeting with the orthopaedic surgeon for teeth, whatever surgeon that guy really is. He was truly odd, and wore odd glasses, and his breath smelled odd, the whole thing was odd. Also I remember he gave me a choice about the anaesthetic: local, so I could/would know what he was doing; or general, so I would not.

I corrected him: Oh, no, Dr. Teeth, there is one option, and one option only. You will knock me out. And not a little knocking me out, you will cause me to be very nearly DEAD because if I have ANY IDEA WHATSOEVER about the terror you are wreaking in my precious mouth, I will die and I will take you with me. And my parents? Will.Be.Pissed.At.Your.Dead.Self.

Also? Dr. Teeth told me I could have a Frosty from Wendy's after my surgery. Score.

So we went back, me and the fam, on the Big Day. The nice nurse lady took me back into the room, and the crew proceeded to knock my smart ass out. Except I had never been under the influence of any sort of anything at that time, and I really did not enjoy the experience of going under. I held on as long as I could (ummm, hi, control freak?)...which was probably 2.9 seconds because I forever have been, and forever will be a cheap date.

They LALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALA.

And then they tried to wake me up.

Except for I am a cheap date, and that rendered me completely impossible.

Eventually, they dragged my half-dead carcass out of the recovery room, and instructed my father to carry me out the back entrance of the place, so as not to disturb the customers.

I asked for a Frosty.

My father said something to me, I'm sure, and tried to carry me.

I wanted to walk. And I demanded a Frosty.

The back exit was similar to a fire escape on a high rise. We compromised, and I walked while my father carried me down the stairs. I can only imagine how truly awkward that must have been.

He tossed my floppy self into the family minivan. I demanded a Frosty.

I did not know this at the time, but my mouth was packed with gauze. The gauze was there to soak up all the blood that was pouring from the holes in my gums. Yes, pouring. Despite the stitches. Also, I did not know that my tongue was completely dry. And swollen to at least twice it's size.

And I was incredibly frustrated that nobody was giving me a damn Frosty.

Eventually the realized that I was not saying FUNKY, I was saying FROSTY, and that rang a tiny bell for them, and they drove to Wendy's.

Where I demanded to GO INSIDE. They deduced my intention to go inside by the manic way I was beating on the seatbelt and throwing my floppy self up against the door of the van, all the while keeping my head remarkably still. (Drugs are amazing. And don't you forget it.)

My mother convinced me not to go inside. Or she sat on me. I have no idea.

They brought the Frosty out, and I was SO THIRSTY!!!! And I had been SO VERY COOPERATIVE!!! And NOT CURSED AT DR. TEETH!!!! And NOT VOMITED!!! And I wanted the Frosty. RIGHT.NOW.

My mother spooned some Frosty in my mouth. I closed my lips, and felt the refreshing, cold, chocolatey bliss that is a Frosty bring life and rejuvanation to the desert that was my mouth. I savored that bite of Frosty. I swallowed what was the most amazing bit of food to ever have crossed my lips. And I opened my mouth for more.

Except I didn't actually swallow. I only THOUGHT I had swallowed.

Opening my mouth was a huge mistake. The blessed Frosty dribbled from my mouth. Gushed, actually. Down my chin, on my clothes, in my lap, on the seat belt, and on the door of the van. Also? Blood and bloody gauze came falling out of my mouth.

And they refused to give me any more Frosty. Also they laughed.

So there I was, in the Wendy's parking lot, covered in blood and Frosty, sobbing and shouting drunken anger in the direction of my parents. People were watching, horrified, as the poor, bloody, retarded girl was laughed at by her parents.

Ah, the joys I bring to the lives of those around me.

The next thing I remember is lying on the couch in our living room, and taking some sort of happy pill to keep me from hurting. My mother told me my Frosty was in the freezer and I could have it later, but could she please help me change my shirt? I was feeling a little more compliant by then, so I flopped around and let her put a clean shirt on me.

They saved the shirt.

22 comments:

  1. OH MY! I know it is late, but the fact that I am tired has nothing to do with the fact that I am sitting here trying very hard not to laugh so loud that th dogs start barking and the bird starts squawking (sp??) so loud that everyone else who is sleeping wakes up. Do you have any idea how HARD this is?? ROFL!! This is SO SO FUNNY!! LOVE LOVE LOVE IT!

    http://damama2all.blogspot.com/

    ReplyDelete
  2. OOPS! Forgot to tell you how I came to be here: Via MamaKat's.

    TTFN!

    ReplyDelete
  3. oh my word.
    HAH HAHAH ohhhh hA!
    i needed that.
    sorry you had to suffer so--what an awful, but hilarious story.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Pamela, you've made my day. That was even better than the first time you told me that story.

    ReplyDelete
  5. I spent many years NOT taking care of my teeth. Which led to this glorious day . . .

    http://thecheekofgod.wordpress.com/2008/05/21/hope/

    Read it, and weep. And then go brush . . .

    ReplyDelete
  6. Eeek!

    I had to click on your little picture markers to get them to show up. That is some mess. And then I clicked on your photo, just to see if it was as big as the other pictures, and I swear . . . I saw nose hairs!

    ;-)

    ReplyDelete
  7. Oh. My. God!

    I was visiting a site listed on the side of your blog, the Hey You! site, and meant to leave that comment over there . . .

    I need coffee. Quick!

    Feel free to delete all this crap . . .

    ReplyDelete
  8. @tysdaddy- Thank the Lord you were someplace else! I feel I'm very responsible about keeping my facial hair groomed. You scared me there for a minute.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Don't you love how they make you go out the back door???

    If I'd have been coherent, I'd have so insisted on walking through the waiting room with all that bloody gore hanging out of my face.

    I'll buy you a frosty one day.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Oh does that ever bring back memories of when I got my wisdom teeth removed when I was 19. Boy, was THAT ever fun! NOT.

    I remember nearly choking to death trying to get a drink of water when I got home because I was so thirsty. It's hard to swallow when you can't feel your throat.

    ReplyDelete
  11. I needed a good laugh this morning...thanks!!!

    ReplyDelete
  12. Hanna the non blogger12 December, 2008 11:57

    I think I just peed in my pants a little bit. My daughters think that mommy has lost it. I am laughing so hard that I have tears coming out of my head. Which is only confusing Big sister even more. Breathe, Hanna, Breathe. So to summarize... Reading about Dr. Teeth made me...
    Pee my pants,
    Leak liquid from my head,
    Have a small asthma attack as a result of too much laughter.
    AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!
    PS~Pamela, please remember to use the toilet today. Just a friendly reminder from you friendly friend who would like to see you without another UTI.

    ReplyDelete
  13. I'm obsessed with flossing. I wouldn't wish this upon anyone. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at a Frosty again without laughing.

    ReplyDelete
  14. Everyone seems to have horror stories about getting their wisdom teeth pulled. My experience really wasn't bad. I had laughing gas and other than feeling like I was going to die for about 30 seconds because my heart started beating out my chest, it was pretty amazing. My surgeon had me in and out within 3 minutes. I was back to normal within 36 hours. He is stellar! Sorry yours was so awful!

    (Root Canals are another story for me... Worst experience of my life.)

    ReplyDelete
  15. This sounds frighteningly similar to my own wisdom tooth extraction, also done when I was 17. I also acted bizarrely under the influence of the anaesthesia - we didn't make a detour at Wendy's but my dad says I was cussing like a sailor as I came up from the fog, and he also had to hustle me out the back door. I then convalesced on our couch where my mother kept me sedated with T3 for several days.

    I like the new header. :)

    ReplyDelete
  16. I remember this... I don't remember much from my childhood, but I remember this.

    ReplyDelete
  17. I had pretty much the same exact experience with post-dental surgery Frosty consumption.

    ReplyDelete
  18. My response to the same writing prompt was about my own wisdom-teeth-anesthetic-not-wearing-off story. I didn't read yours until I had posted mine. While mine isn't nearly as funny, apparently we both have trouble waking from the dead sleep they put us into.

    http://proartz.blogspot.com

    ReplyDelete
  19. I hate the Dentist more than anything else in life. He is my worst nightmare.

    ReplyDelete
  20. Brilyn: "Omigod WHAT'S awful? Why are you crying?"
    LOL. Terrible and funny.
    XOXO
    Joce

    ReplyDelete
  21. Oh. My. Word. I was having an otherwise yucky day, sitting on the couch being sick (yucky) and perusing your blog (not yucky), when I stumbled upon this post. Laughing so hard I am crying...kids wondering what in the world is wrong with mama. Tried to read parts to them, and they don't get it. Holy cow that was great. I may bust into hysterics the next time I see you, and now you will know why.

    ReplyDelete

talk to me, people. because you know i get all giddy when you do.