MMMMPFFFHH!!!!

Mmpf. Mmmpf. MMMMPFFFHH!! Put me under!

I tried. I really did. He warned me that it was likely he wouldn't be able to numb it all the way if I had a (big) cavity there, and I did and he couldn't, but I had wanted to try. But I was definitely noticing as he started pulling.

So they put me under. It was only two wisdom teeth, and they were already erupted, having had the last four or five years to sit there and nefariously plot my downfall in the form of a giant hole which made me drive an hour and a half in the snow just for the referral. So there I was. They stopped the pulling, switched gears, stabbed me in the arm, and before I went I wanted to know if I could have my ipod on.

C. was sitting across from me. What was she doing here? Wasn't she out in the lobby? I tried to tell her that I was still waiting for the operation but the whole talking thing wasn't working out. "Don't try to talk," she told me, but it was really important that I tell her something. It might have involved a professor, I'm not sure.

C. was sitting across from me. What was she doing here? I was very worried about all of this and particularly worried that my ipod was gone, and kept trying to ask her where it was, but it talking wasn't as successful as I intended, and ended up being bilingually unintelligible gibberish. "Don't try to talk," she kept telling me, but I wanted to know where my ipod was.

C. was sitting across from me. I figured out why she was there, and that there was something I wanted to tell her. "Don't try to talk," she kept telling me, because every time I would try to say anything it was a flashback to some cheap horror film as blood began to leak out and congeal blackly on the corners of my mouth. I managed to communicate that she should tell me a story--so she read me three pages out of "We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Familes: Tales from the Rwandan Genocide" which apparently shut me up.

They eventually let me go. I was absolutely convinced that Catrin had moved her car, except she had been with me the whole time. Walking was interesting and unsteady, without the regularity of a ship at sea, rather more erratic and punctuated by inane comments and occasional loss of balance.

I handed over my credit card at the pharmacist's without knowing what I was buying, and I was absolutely certain I wanted a smoothie. I even managed to order one, though I now have no idea what or how. Somehow I was able to guide C. to my parked car to retrieve my stuff, and could even mostly walk on my own.... except I only remember snippets, flash memories of my car and the pharmacist's and having a Jamba and lying on her couch without knowing how I got anywhere or what I was supposed to be doing.

C. stuck me on her couch and waited until it was time for her to collect her husband from work, leaving me with my fruity goodness, a DVD, and an hour or so to miss the movie by passing out every five minutes.


The whole experience, or at least the whole post-operative experience, was a mixture of being drunk and having a concussion, possibly with a bout of mild seasickness thrown in: no short-term memory, poor balance and swimmy vision, a small comprehension of what's actually going on and a desire to lean on stuff. It wasn't a bad experience per se, I have no negative or other emotions attached to the experience, but I generally dislike not being fully in charge of my faculties.

The plus side: nothing swelled up and I was off of painkillers (and by that I mean ibuprofen) after the first day. Plus side number two: I'm out of wisdom teeth, so I don't expect to ever repeat the experience.

Squeamish people, or people who don't like explosm.net, don't go here: www.bitterfilms.com/anesthetics-teeth.html