I’m a procrastinator. I always have been, but this week was a new low. I started this post on Monday, and this is the third time I’ve tried to finish it. Every time I start I give myself a lame excuse; mainly “but I have to sit on the floor and knit! Naturally I’m far too busy to blog.” But here it goes:
My sister got her wisdom teeth out on Monday. She went to the same doctor that I went to about three years ago, to get ten teeth removed, and my parents and I went with her. It’s crazy how much I remembered about my surgery once I stepped foot in that waiting room. If not for a few updated magazines, the room could have been a time capsule.
I remember sitting there three years ago, watching a painfully boring video on surgically correcting week chins that was playing on a screen mounted to the wall. My mom was sitting next to me, reading a gardening magazine and my grandfather was walking around the little room commenting loudly on the video. But this time, the voice coming from the screen was explaining how to replace teeth with the use of screws. It was grating on my nerves, and grossing me out. With that, and music playing and the idiotic feeling in my gut that I would have to relive my surgery at any moment, it was just all too much. I got out of my seat and messed with the television until I finally found the power button, and the blame thing shut up.
All the same, I couldn’t help thinking back to the long walk down the hall that day, ending in creepy little white room, with a creepy dentist’s chair, some very sharp looking metal instruments, and the man I hated. I couldn’t even remember his name, but nonetheless, I hated him. I glared at him, and reluctantly sat down. Then, two other people came into the room, a nurse and a college-aged blond man. He was there to watch the surgery. I decided, I hated him too.
Before I knew it, the nurse was slipping a gas mask over my nose and mouth, and I was under the influence of laughing gas. It was the strangest feeling. It was kind of like passing out. I remember before the the room went dark, I felt my sandal slip off my foot, stared at the blond guy, and said, “Hey. I lost my shoe.” My voice made me sound drunk. “Put it on my foot.” I felt my shoe slide back on my foot, and the room went black.
Pretty soon I realized I could open my eyes. It was weird. I could see everything around me, especially a beige lamp, but everything else was still hazy. That’s when I saw the knife. It was small but it was very pointy, and I did not want it near me. I noticed the surgeon standing over me he said something like “Oe uuup” I looked at him, slightly cross-eyed and confused. He repeated it “Open up” That was so not happening. I had seen the pointy thing. I stared at him and growled. Things went fuzzy again and I drooled a little.
That’s one of the last really clear memories I have. After that my brain was like badly tuned radio, my vision went in and out of focus, but I’m fairly sure I kept staring at the surgeon. He looked pretty uncomfortable when he handed me three little plastic boxes full of gross, bloody teeth, ten total. I almost gagged, as he helped me out the chair. Once I could stand up on my own two feet, I turned around to look at him, and informed him that I hated him. Then I stumbled back to the waiting room, so my parents could take me home.
Back to Monday, after an hour in the waiting room, we were called back to see my sister. She was put under general anesthesia, not laughing gas, so she was more out of it after her surgery that I was. When we found her, she was lying down on a little bed in a room towards the back of the building, under a blanket that said “I did great” and had dancing teeth on it. She seemed lucid, but she didn’t do anything funny, unless you count not blinking once and really wanting her hat back. This has been the random ramblings of Leila. Thanks for reading!