Pain . . . and Relief

Fabulous, Diva! Holding your baby is one of the most special parts of being a mother, I think. Touching that soft, perfect skin and looking down into those sweet, bright eyes is an indescribable joy. I'm so glad that you and DH have reached this milestone. Congratulations!

While you all were experiencing gentle, baby touches, I was being touched by a drill. Let me tell you, I'd sooooo rather be holding your baby. I was expecting to only have two of the wisdom teeth removed, but the oral surgeon suggested that they all should come out, so I acquiesced. The receptionist had told me that I would be able to drive home if I only used the nitrous oxide instead of being put all the way under. I had some fears about anaesthesia, so I opted for the gas. Still, I had to wonder what in the world this receptionist was thinking. Yes, I could have driven myself home--if there were no other cars on the road. Or buildings. Or people. And the car drove itself. My blood pressure was high, I was jittery, and I couldn't think about anything except the pain. Thank goodness my husband came with me.

Now, let's talk about the drugs. Oh, wonderful, beautiful drugs. I sent DH straight to the pharmacy for the numerous prescriptions; they told him they would be ready in two hours. Two hours?! In two hours I would have beaten myself with a baseball bat, just so I could pass out. I sat staring at the clock, telling myself, "Okay, let's just try to get through the next fifteen minutes. I can get through the next fifteen minutes. It's just like labor. Breathe, girl." I was in the fetal position, trying not to seem like an "Intervention" reject. It was awful. I asked DH to go ask if they could get the prescription ready earlier. Then I called him while he was there. Then I heard the garage door and ran downstairs to meet my drugs--I mean DH--with a cup of juice. Then I felt the sweet rush of pain relief and zonked out for the next few hours.

So now, I'm not in nearly as much pain, but still a little zonked out. I started to think, "What kind of person wants to do this stuff to people?" Who is this oral surgeon dude and what's wrong with him? I mean, he's digging around in my mouth and poking me. He actually had to brace himself against the chair in order to pull out one of the teeth. As much as I despise this career limbo, I can't imagine that excruciating-pain-inflicter would ever be high on my list of choices. Just how does one decide that this is a good idea? But then, one look at the bill probably explains a lot, huh?

I'm looking like Marlon Brando, but I'm hanging in. Let's not do this again.