Teeth

In honor of Wade's oldest losing his first tooth, I'll tell you my story of when I had my wisdom teeth pulled.

But first - the tooth fairy, namely, Wade and her husband (marriage makes two become one, right?) gave the oldest five dollars for this tooth. Five dollars? Seriously, when I was a kid, I got a quarter and I was damned pleased to get it. Of course, I also walked barefoot uphill in the snow both ways blah blah blah... But I asked Wade about it, and she said it was the smallest bill either of them had. She then wisely explained to her oldest that the first lost tooth was special, and from now on, the tooth fairy wouldn't be leaving as much cash. Good move, Wade. Kid's got to have what, at least twenty teeth? You'd be out a hundred bucks, and really, isn't that what grandparents are for?

Back to the main attraction. I don't remember how old I was, probably twenty-five or so, when my dentist decided that I needed all four of my wisdom teeth pulled. I'd never had any surgery and was understandably nervous. Well, not so much about surgery; I knew it was routine. I was terrified of the needle the oral surgeon was going to put into my hand to knock me out. (I have an aversion to needles. Even now, to give blood, I have to have one of those little stress balls or my arm refuses to let lose of its red bounty.)

So I got into the chair and grimaced as the itsy-bitsy needle went into my hand. I was out in no time, and surgery was no big deal.

The ride home, however, must have looked like the biggest freak show ever. The doctor put packing in my mouth, and ice bags in pantyhose, which were then tied around my head. Yeah. The image is glorious, is it not? Poor passenger me, with pantyhose around my head and swelling and the little bits of blood dripping from my mouth. I had one short moment of lucidity where I realized just how bad I must have looked.

Got home, and Momma put me to bed, right after shoving a pill down my throat and commanding me to swallow it. About four hours later, my bathroom needs overrode the powerful, chemically-induced desire to sleep, and I could see me in the mirror. Ick, people, ick ick ick. But what I remember most is the feeling that I was gnawing on my tongue. I didn't care; the Novocaine and Percocet ensured that. But curiosity got the best of me, so I opened my mouth in front of the bathroom mirror to see the cotton padding in my mouth.

And so I hollered out, as I am wont to do, "Mom! Momma! The doctor put tampons in my mouth! These are OBs!" And you know what? I honestly believe that's true.