tedwords

"I am your dentist, I have a talent for causing distress..."

Monday morning I finally acted on something I had put off for months: wisdom tooth extraction.

I had known about the problem for maybe the past eight months, when my dental hygienist had informed me that I had a deep fissure next to one of my wisdom teeth, the one on the lower left side. A few months after that, I started to develop what I lovingly referred to as "stinktooth." The area around the wisdom tooth just did not feel (or smell) good at all. Some medicated mouthwash helped clear it up a bit, but it was clear to me that the stinktooth's days were numbered.

So, I went to an oral surgeon who confirmed the worst, and we schedule a day to have it removed. The good news was, the other wisdom teeth could stay in place, and may never need to be removed (knock on wood).

Being the hypochondriac that I am, I delayed the extraction for as long as I possibly could. I had it scheduled for right before I retired. Smart idea, I thought. Surely my workload will have lessened by that point. HA! The week before it was to occur, I moved it to after I retired. This week.

But oh, what a drama queen I was about getting it done. All weekend long, Corb heard me grumbling and moaning about the procedure, about how worried I was about having it done, would it result in a stroke at my age, would I have to be rushed to the hospital...

The night before the operation, I was complete torture. Every nine seconds, he says, I would make some kind of movement...a whimpering noise, or I'd roll over in the bed, or I would stretch out and change the position of my legs. It made for a night of non-sleep for him. And gee, from my perspective, I thought I was being so good.

Yesterday rolled around, and I resigned myself to the inevitable. Woke up at 6:30 for an 8 appointment. Corb drove me to the appointment. I waited in the waiting room while Family Feud played, along with a young blond teenage girl also getting a wisdom tooth (teeth? Dunno) removed.

And then, the brought me in, hooked me up to the "valium drip." I was dreading this, he said I wouldn't be completely out of it. I worried, what would I remember? Would I hear that horrible crack of my jaw being broken?

Turns out, no. I have no memory of what happened at all. Corb said that I was quite amusing and me and the teenage girl had a very silly exchange while we were both high as kites. I was worried about going to dinner with my friends Heather and Charlie on Friday and kept asking everyone whether I would be able to go. She was worried about going to a dance. It ended with the following exchange, as she lifted up the curtain to talk to me:

HER: I hope this isn't your first date. If it is, I hope you get married.

ME: I don't want to marry you!

HER: If it's not your first date, I hope you get lucky!

I have no memory of this at all. I don't really even remember leaving the dentist. I kind of remember arriving at home and turning on the TV. Then sleeping.

I wonder what life will be, post stinktooth. No longer rolling against it with my tongue. Will I even remember it, a year from now? It won't be like a missing tooth after all. I may remember it, I suppose, like an earache I had a few years ago due to a swimming infection. I remember the incident and how I complained of it. But I do not remember an ounce of the actual pain.

Today, I am feeling much better. I was able to eat this morning and brush my teeth with my finger, so I actually feel like a human.

And after that, Corb had some business to conduct in the area, so we drove near the house that to I grew up in when I was but a tiny Tedster, for my first 5 years on this earth. It looked a bit run down but I took a photo for posterity.

I remember. The school down the street that my mother would walk me to every day for kindergarten. I never realized that it was located next to roads named Betty Street and Linda Street. Betty is my mom's nickname; Linda was her best friend while I was growing up. Is life really just a simulation?

I remember. There was a monster that lived in my bedroom closet. A sunny Sunday morning, a yellow bedroom. The closet door open and something comes out. I scream and I think I pass out. No memory of what happens next. Was this a simulation too?

Life is full of small coincidences. Most likely, this doesn't add up to much. Unless it does.