Monday, February 18, 2013

how can teeth be wise?

A few months before Dusty and I got married, I had to have my wisdom teeth out.
It was a rather horrific experience, but happily, I don't remember most of it.
I flew home to Arizona for an early Friday morning procedure, and flew back to California on Sunday.
In between, mom cared for me constantly, and I was in pretty bad shape. I slept most of the time and was in a daze of pain and grossness. I'm really glad I was home and didn't have to worry about things!

Sadly, ten days ago, it was Dusty's turn.
He had his wisdom teeth for years, but they were finally giving him enough trouble that our local dentist said, it's time. Let's just get these suckers out.

February 8th was the day - 11am procedure.
I dropped him off, grabbed Starbucks, and came back to wait. They wanted me there the entire time, in case anything went wrong or they needed me for some unforeseen reason.
Plus I have a feeling they really didn't want a drugged up, half-conscious swollen man waiting for his ride.
I sat reading, and it was quite pleasant.

I was surprised to find that it was only 45 minutes later when the nurse came out and called my name.

I gotta say, the next few hours were not fun for me. Walking into that operating room, seeing Dusty completely unconscious and already was disconcerting.
Then, as if the nurse knew this was already nightmarish, she points to the back counter and says, "Do you know if he would want these?" as she points to four grisly teeth on a bloody napkin.
"Gawd, no!" I said, appalled. She then goes on to explain that sometimes, people ask for them after she's already disposed of them, and she wanted to make sure...
It was then that Dusty decided to wake up.
From behind me, I hear, "Graawwwrrrrrrgggg."
I suddenly felt like I knew what Frankenstein felt like, when he first met his newly living Monster.
He's aliiiiiive!
I bent over to his side, "Ohh, hi, honey! I'm sorry...did you want to keep your teeth?"
He nodded enthusiastically.
The nurse smiled, like she knew he would want to keep them all along, and flipped them all into an appropriate little medical baggy.
I took them from her and showed them to Dusty. "See? Look at that! Gross!"

His eyes took a while to focus, and then his eyebrows drew together in an angry scowl.
He jabbed at the bag with his finger, "Garrumpphh dratarrrr! Arrrgggurtarga, braaannn terrrrka!"
I just smiled and tried not to laugh, because neither of us would never know what he was trying to yell.

I was extremely impressed with how well he could walk. Occasionally he would try and walk forward without the nurse and I, and nearly fall, before holding his arms back out for us to help, with a "Ha ha, ha ha".
He even tried holding the door open for us.
Isn't it funny how things like that are embedded in a gentleman, even in an obliterated state?
I got him in the car semi-successfully...he stumbled and fell to the side a little, but didn't hit his face, which was the main goal.
I took a video of him in the car, and then he was out for the rest of the ride.
He would occasionally jerk awake when the car bumped or swerved a little, with a big gasp.
By the time we got home, I had to wake him up again.
"Okay, stay in here, okay? I'm coming around to get you...don't move...ok? Don't move."
I opened his side of the door and reached in to grab his arms, but he wouldn't come out.
He kept reaching behind him, trying to grab anything he could reach.
"You...yoooo...want, rrrr, bucksss? You..."
I was almost hysterical. "No! Honey, thank you, that's okay, you're so sweet...I'll get that later, now c'mon!"
He lumbered along with me, happy go lucky.
Once we were inside and I turned around to lock the door, he wriggled out of my grasp and stumbled headlong over the coffee table and onto the couch.
He couldn't smile, but that weird laugh came out again. "Ha ha, ha ha" and he didn't seem hurt.
Not that anything could phase him at this point.

Before he conked out, he struggled to speak again -- I think he was trying to say, "Is it okay that I sleep?" but it sounded like something King Kong would say while trying to steal a pretty blonde from a New York skyscraper.

It was pretty happy there, for a while.

I read and cuddled up with Eva while switching Dusty's frozen peas from one cheek to the other every half an hour or so.
Around 3pm, I tried to wake him up so we could switch out his gauze.
I was worried about keeping them in there too long; the doctor said we could switch them around 1pm, so I had already waited longer than that.
He didn't want to wake up, and once we got the used-up gauze out of his mouth...he just passed out.
I'm not even kidding, my mind was working in overload. I realized with sudden horror that I had no idea how to handle anything remotely close to this. I was absolutely useless in a crisis situation.
Every single drop of blood drained from his face, his head fell forward, and he started shaking and breathing really hard. I honestly thought he might die, and there was nothing in the world that I could do.
Not only am I useless, I'm a drama queen.
I grabbed my phone and called the dentist, while trying to get him to wake up. He was too heavy to move, and I was afraid to push his head back or move it around.

It was not a happy moment.
I made him a smoothie and tried to get some nutrients in him, to prevent him from passing out again. He needed fluids and some sustenance.
He definitely improved as the day went on, but I realized in that moment that I really, really love my husband. And I'm just not okay with seeing him in danger.
Also, I think I need some sort of medical training because I'm a complete nincompoop.

He stayed swollen but got better and better, and now he's just as studly as ever.
So glad that little spell is behind us!

In love,

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