Ok, so I’m relatively back to the abnormal state of mind that qualifies as “normal” for me.

My Dental Adventure
I was relatively unconscious for most of the surgery, although they never told me when I was going under, so my brain compensated by thinking it was awake the whole time. I have vague memories of my doctor making a little frustrated noises — which I learned later were due to my Jaw of Concrete™ breaking THREE of his dental burs. When they woke me up, I drooled that I’d been awake the whole time.

“The whole 45 minutes?!” the doctor asked.

“Fouzeh fahv minuz?” I slurred. It was supposed to be a simple 20 minute procedure. I remembered maybe 60 seconds total.

He did mention that I’d started opening my eyes a bit in the last five minutes, but that he didn’t want to give me more anesthesia because of my remakably low heart rate. Yes, the heart rate that’s so low because I’m in really good shape. THAT ONE! (Excuse me my pride on this issue. The whole experience was rather demoralizaing, and I must pathetically to cling to my few moments of glory.)

They laid me down on a little recovery bed, I whined for my boyfriend, who came in and sat with me while I faded in and out. The doctor warned me of my increased likelhood of Sockets (due to how difficult it was to get my right bottom wizzie out), and I whined about not wanting to get them. Andreas said that the doctor seemed almost impressed by how strong my jaw was…Dre heard it like, “she break THREE of my burs — she have jaw like strong Russian woman!” Oh, did I mention that my scary Russian dentist referred me to this Russian dental surgeon? I think there may be a Russian dental mafia in LA. Regardless, Dr. Peck was a great doctor.

I liked him a whole lot, but maybe it was just the drugs.

Armed with gauze, vicodin, cold packs, and antibiotics, Andreas led me down to the car. I embarassingly drooled blood down my (still numb) chin and kept trying to clamp my useless gaping maw of a mouth closed with my upper lip.

We got home and I instantly feel asleep. When I woke up, my jaw was starting to hurt a bit, so Dre brought me some yogurt to eat so that I could take my vicodin.

This was perhaps the worst part. I tried to eat the yogurt, but couldn’t feel anything. I ended up drooling bloody yogurt down my chin. Andreas very kindly wiped it up for me, but the whole experience was just so awful and humiliating and oh, it hurt, whimper whimper that I started sniffling and crying and just had to lay there like a pathetic sobbing bleedy-drooled mess until I fell asleep.

I slept pretty much straight through until noon yesteray. I wrote that quick post Friday night before getting totally nauseous and collapsing back into bed. I slept for many many hours, then would wake up, whimper for food I could eat with a spoon, and Andreas would pet my head and feed me medicine. He was about the best nurse a girl could hope for. He bought me chocolate chip mint ice cream, knowing it’s my favorite, and then picked the chocolate chips out, one by one, because I couldn’t chew them up. Bonus nurse points: taking off clothes and getting in bed with me when his shift was over! Now THAT’S a good nurse.

Yesterday was gross. I faded in and out all day, was super nauseus from the vicodin, and unable to focus my eyes on anything. Nothing! I had to call to order in a prescription, and the nurse asked me for the phone number of my pharmacy. I stared, cross-eyed at the bottle in front of me and could NOT find the phone number…even though it’s the biggest print on the whole damn bottle. “This vicodin makes it hard to read things,” I babbled. “I know, honey,” the nurse replied.

Adding to the bizarre day yesterday, my long-estranged maternal grandmother had a stroke. Not quite sure how to feel about that, since I’ve seen her only once since 1988.

Today I’m feeling relatively better, thanks to eliminating the vicodin. Now I’m just taking high dosages of ibuprofin … ah, how I love ibuprofin. It’s the cure for everything: menstrual cramps, toothaches, dry skin, impotence, hairlip, etc. I’m working hard, trying to visualize a really healthy sockets. Let’s all visualize Ariel with healthy moist-sockets, ok? Visualize my jaw bone with a nice fat healthy blood clot firmly attached to it. Keep that image in your mind. Try not to vomit.

Also, for those who remember sometime last month when I made reference to a scandalous purple shirt, I finally have a photo of it. My friend Scott, a first year law student, proved that he’s training to be one of those lawyers who know when they have something you want and make you wait and wait and wait for it until they’ve got you sitting on the witness stand screaming, “I DID IT, OK?! I DID IT!!” Then they reward you with embarassing photos of yourself.