This isn’t really news, since everyone who matters has spoken to me since my last update, but…I survived. It wasn’t fun, and the incredible clusterfuck surrounding it all made it even less fun.
Let’s start at the beginning….
About a month ago, got everything all set up to go see an oral surgeon. We had a chat over the phone about sedation options, and she had prescriptions sent out. I got the appointment letter in the mail, and stuck it to the white board. I start preparing as best I can, because I’m not entirely sure they’ll even complete the process. See, it’s through the VA, and Dental’s only for 100% people, and they were considering me for a reduction. The DAV were trying to keep me there, but, well, I knew how well that went last time, so I was kinda figuring on everything going wrong.
But, things changed. And then…things changed.
The oral surgeon called me last Friday, telling me that…something had happened. She couldn’t do it Thursday, because of…something. And she wouldn’t be in the office past 3:30. It was 3:20. And my phone was going out of the service area by…I don’t know…shifting dimensions when unobserved for fractions of fractions of seconds, or something. That’s fine, though, because I was getting a new phone, which is a whole ‘nother story.
Saturday, and the oral surgeon calls me back. By some lucky coincidence my phone works and I answer it, even though the number is unfamiliar and strangely Californian. She wants to know if I can do it on Monday. Monday.
We try to figure out if we can. Eventually, we get it all worked out. We can do it Monday, we’ll just have to ride the bus there, which will be a lot like hell, because that makes Sunday Extra Special Mogwai day….
Y’know, no eating after midnight. No water. All that sheer hell.
Also? I hadn’t finished my food list. A minor complaint, sure, but still depressing.
In case you’re curious, it was a list of foods I wanted to eat one last time, since I didn’t know when I was going to be able to eat again. It consisted of such simple pleasures as good pizza, broccoli beef, crab rangoon, eggrolls, spicy surimi, a sub from Subway with chips in it. A short list, but…I kinda missed out on the chinese. I did, however, get chicken tenders, and, because ‘what the hell’, some corn on the cob. I’d been avoiding that for years because I’d been worried about whether or not I could do it without making myself look like a toothless hick.
Too late for that now.
So, yeah. I get as much of that crammed into Saturday and Sunday as I can. I get a case of chocolate Boost and a big pack of pudding cups, get the comfiest [and most easily shed] clothes I can find, and I’m all ready for Monday.
Here’s what I remember of Monday:
- Waking up at 4:30 because Gremlin was sick of waiting.
- Sitting at McDonalds because it was too early for the bus, wishing I could eat something.
- Getting on the bus.
- Getting on the LightRail, and sitting in the stepwell because it was so crowded.
- Getting to the VA Hospital around a half hour early, and checking in, expecting them to not have my appointment listed because it was made on Saturday.
- Meeting the oral surgeon, who turns out to not be twelve feet tall and made entirely of dental drills and rusty wire.
- Signing the ‘This could kill you’ release form.
- Learning that I probably shouldn’t have worn a camisole under my shirt for comfort because it made the heart monitoring sticky pads slightly more annoying to place.
- Getting the IV.
- The really awesome computer-box thingie where they apparently keep the good drugs.
- They strapped my arms to the chair, and called them ‘gentle reminders,’ because, apparently, people like to try and help.
- The phrase, “This isn’t what’ll put you out. It’ll just make you itch.”
- Holy crap, she meant it. Who, exactly, came up with this drug, and why did they just decide to punish me? Seriously. Whatever it was, it felt like a billion tiny stars achieved fusion in my crotch, and brought STDs with them.
And then, nothing. I remember some awful grindey-filey noises, and some brief pain, and someone saying, “We’re almost done,” but…nothing until they stuffed my face with gauze and helped me into a wheelchair. Fortunately, the firey crotch of doom went away while I was out.
…then, car and home. I didn’t bleed all over the car, which is probably a good thing because it wasn’t ours. I did bleed all over the front step, and possibly on my super-comfy-flannel.
More fuzziness, until the new phones arrived. I managed to activate the phone in my drugged up haze, which says something about Verizon’s activation process. It’s a Motorola Droid, and, so far, I don’t hate it. I can even post here from it [I think].
By Tuesday, I was sick of chocolate. So, we went out. I had egg drop soup, and teeny, tiny bites of mongolian beef. And it was the most wonderfully wonderful thing I’d ever tasted.
…and, on Wednesday, I learned why you don’t go out for strolls the day after oral surgery. Also, I learned that the VA still thought I was going to be coming in on Thursday to have all my teeth extracted.
I also learned that I’m a very lucky person, or something. Gremlin surprised me with the giant plush Ebola from the Giant Microbes store. It’s seriously adorable, and I think I’m glad things didn’t go as planned. I might’ve bled all over it, otherwise.
I still don’t know what the next step is, or when it’s going to happen. Right now, I’m not sure I care, but that could be a combination of tiredness and vicodin talking.
If that last line doesn’t explain this post, nothing will.