I've been through a lot of painful things; emotionally and physically. These things include breast reduction surgery (the next person to tell me I slapped God in the face will be slapped in the face), turning several men gay, being kicked at recess for being a tomboy, leg wax after a long time of being single in the winter, etc. But, I've never experienced anything more inhumane than recovering from my wisdom teeth removal.
I was doomed from the first appointment where I made a bad impression on the oral surgeon and I knew deep in my heart that he would do his best to make sure I was in the most pain as possible. First off, I work approximately 50-60 hours a week between my two jobs; scheduling an appointment is like a penis...it is hard and sometimes difficult to fit in. I somehow managed to switch around some shifts so I could visit this dude for a consultation. Well, they ended up having to cancel and reschedule to a a different day at noon. I explained to them I worked at 2:30 and asked if I would be out by then. She assured me I would be. On the day of the appointment I showed up 15 minutes early, like most people do. 12:15 rolls around and I'm starting to get a little bit anxious. 12:45 strikes and I'm still in the waiting room. I can only watch their fish tank for so long before I get restless. It is obvious I am impatient because I'm tapping my fingers, sighing, and saying "fuck this" aloud. I finally got called in around 1:30 where I was put in a chair and forced to watch a video from the 60's about wisdom teeth. It was a crappy VHS that skipped and went fuzzy every 10 seconds and the boy starring in it had a mullet. As brilliantly put together this motion picture was, I got bored and stared out the window where I noticed it began to pour buckets. The nurse came in to make sure I was paying attention to the shit video and I told her I had to be at work in an hour. She rolled her eyes and I heard her go next door to tell the surgeon. When he finally came in to inspect my chompers, I could tell he was unimpressed with my "lets get this show on the road" attitude. He walks in without saying anything and goes over to the window where for like 30 seconds straight he just stares. He eventually turns around and says VERY slowly "Woooow...it...is...really raining. I mean...REALLY...REALLY raining...like buckets." What a fucking dick. I just politely agree and he says to me "now just relax young lady, lets not rush this."
The actual day of surgery was an adventure and a half. My appointment was scheduled for 9:30. At 9 I am on my toilet with the nervous shits. I had to eventually throw in the towel and leave for the appointment, wearing tribal print tights with knee high socks and flats and a t-shirt that read I DID IT on the front (I don't remember where it was from or what I did but good for me!) My Mom and I arrive at the medical building and in the elevator on the way up I was struck again...if I didn't find a toilet in the next 3 minutes I'd have a messy situation on my hands (and everywhere else). We located the nearest washroom but it was locked. I had to go into the doctors office to retrieve the key. How embarrassing. "Um yea, I'm here but I just need to make a quick massacre of the bathroom...be back in 20." No, I had my Mom get the key for me. The bathroom was smaller than an airplane washroom. I could drop a deuce and brush my teeth at the same time. I don't even wanna talk about what happened in that washroom. Ten minutes later I returned to the office and gave the key back to the nurse. It couldn't have been more than 3 minutes later when a lady came in and asked for it. That poor woman. I didn't have to wait as long this time. I got called in relatively early.
As I sat in the chair I became more and more nervous. I hate IVs. I told her I'd probably pass out when she put it in. She said "good thing your laying down then." She was wise. I liked her. She then explained to me that I would have laughing gas before the IV was put in so I would be fine. I've never had laughing gas before...I mean, I love to laugh and I have gas all day every day but the two together sounded terrifying. Boy was I wrong, it was a treat I rather enjoyed...
Nurse: "You are going to feel a little light headed from this gas" *puts it over my nose*
Me: "Why do they call it laughing gas?"
Nurse: "Well its rare but sometimes people can't stop laughing."
**I felt fine at first but after a couple minutes...**
Me: *cannot stop laughing for the life of me* "Holy shit I cant stop laughing"
Nurse: "Do you ever experience dizziness."
Me: "Yea, right now...bahbabhahbahbahbaha"
Nurse: *silent*
Me: "hahahahaah"
Nurse: "Now, your birth control isn't going to work with the meds we give you for healing"
Me: "Lady, look at me. I obviously don't have a boyfriend. I'm not getting laid. The pills are for regulation purposes."
Nurse: *silent* "Ok hunny I'm going to need you to relax your hand."
Me: *I take my hand and put it right in her face and move it up and down as if it were talking and in a high pitch voice I say..."buy me a drink first"
Nurse: *silent* "Ok, time for the good stuff."
...that's all I remember.
The first two days of recovery were fine. I thought it was a breeze. The third day to the tenth day was pure hell. I took a percoset but it ended up making me cry and then laugh hysterically at my the pattern on my Mom's Northern Reflections holiday sweater. Every night I cried out in agony, praying for death. I had enough Ibuprofen to put a gorilla in a coma. It was constipating me beyond belief. I could hear the toilet crying at night because it missed me so much. I eventually discovered that the pain could be eased a little by putting clove oil on the wound. However, this made me drool excessively; I had to wear a scuba mask to bed. If I had to eat another bowl of jello or soup I was going to throw a bitch fit. My mother is a saint for taking care of me through this. I hate everyone who told me it wasn't a big deal.
