My week has been a long one, Reader. First, I had school and work on Monday. However, blissfully, we didn't have any classes for the rest of the week. In fact, the campus is closed until this coming Monday. Unfortunately, as I may have previously mentioned, I was scheduled for a wisdom tooth extraction on Tuesday morning--the 24th, for those keeping track.
Loyal to my word, I didn't eat or drink after midnight the night before. I showered and brushed my teeth the morning of and took my two Valium with a sip of water as required. (I mentioned that I was freaked out at the idea of surgery, the doctor handed me a prescription. What ever happened to calming words? Better living through chemistry, I suppose.) When we got to the office, I was feeling pretty damned mellow. In fact, I can easily see how so many people can enjoy Valium. You're coherent. There's no drug fog. You just don't really care about much of anything. There's no anxiety. There's no feeling. You just kinda are.
I was hooked up to several annoying, beeping machines. I was left in the room with my husband. The doctor finally came in and tried to get a vein so they could give me the sodium pentathol. First, I have to mention that his technique was awful. For a man who spends much of his time giving injections, he was really really bad at finding my vein. In fact, he did the worst thing ever, which was smack the spots on my arms and hands that he was trying to find them. Other than the amazing ability to piss off a patient, this technique also boasts the joy of actually making veins HARDER to find. Smart, doc. Somewhere after that injection, I recall something being fitted over my face. After that, I don't recall.
What I do recall, however, is waking up during the procedure to intense pain. I was waking up while they were still pulling teeth!! With fingers and instruments in my mouth, I couldn't do much other than moan, but it was enough to get the message across. I couldn't really open my eyes. I heard them tell me that I was doing great and that it was almost over--is that just something people tell you in the midst of pain? I distinctly recall having heard those words associated with childbirth as well--and then I was waking up later. I recall asking to see my teeth and being told that someone else already took them out of the room. (Hell, I figure if I had to pay $1400 to have them removed, the least you could do is show the bitches to me, right?!) Then, I was being walked to a recovery room.
I was surprisingly awake afterward. My mouth was numb, which all the nurses and people knew, and yet they insisted on asking me questions. Really? How in the hell do you expect me to respond when I can't feel my tongue and my mouth is stuffed with cotton?! But, you make the requisite noises in response and the struggle to understand what you said that ensues you have the misfortune of trying to find vaguely comical somehow. I bled for the rest of the day, but I slept pretty damned well.
The pain hasn't been that bad. The doctor gave me percocet, roxan, and clindamycin to have filled before the day of the surgery. All I had to do was take them when I got home. He also gave me an additional prescription for darvocet. I was thinking they were crazy during the first few days because the pain wasn't bad enough to warrant another round of narcotics. Now, however, I think I'm changing my mind. The pain is a little bit worse, but it's not the sockets themselves. It's all the surrounding tissues. Even my sinuses ache. I'm a little worried about dry socket, which doesn't seem to be happening, but I'll worry until I know more because that's just how I am. At any rate, if the pain doesn't significantly lessen by the time Tuesday rolls back around, I'll be calling their offices. As it stands, ice packs and heat are helping, so I'm not too worked up about it.
Thanksgiving wasn't all that bad. I had anticipated that things would be much much worse. My father had been angry with the family for a few days before. I don't blame him. Things get too crazy around here. But, of course, because he was upset, they had to be upset too. Then, we play the game where we try to pull everyone else into the middle. Mostly, I just don't care to hear it. I get really tired of the attitudes. I work too hard to have to put up with the bullshit.
My twin came into town as well as my great aunt and uncle, who we call Grandma Linda and Grandpa Jack--we've always called them that. It wasn't that bad. Things were a little rough at first, but by dinner people were warming up to each other. All in all, we had a nice time. The food was good, though I may have overdone it, being fresh out of surgery like I was. I should have avoided the turkey and focused more attention on the potatoes.
The tension at least dissipated. Things just get a little crowded around here. They spend so much time around each other that eventually they just want to blow up about it. The only thing that JJ and I have going for us here is that we get out of the house regularly. We have obligations and things that keep us occupied, so when we're home, we tend to appreciate the fact that we're home a little more. The rest of them not having jobs--save my twin, of course, who is down at college the rest of the year--just puts them around each other too much. They just need to stick to their separate corners more often...or at least, more often around family holidays when feelings are already strained.
The only good thing to come of being post-op in the midst of family warfare was that I got to use the phrase, "Seriously, guys, stop it. You're ruining my buzz." Much to my shock, it actually worked at diffusing the situation. Chalk one up for the selfish, stoned girl at the table.
I don't mean to neglect the blog, but my pain meds are kicking in again. (I can tell when they do, too. It's a very distinct reality shift. Very very distinct.) I think I need to get myself a little more sleep. I'll try to write more later. A Belated Happy Thanksgiving to all!
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