The gauntlet was thrown and I am now attempting to read Ulysses.
Mr. Zoo: Just think of it this way: once you’ve finished it, you’ll always be able to say you’ve read it!
Me: Well, technically I could say that now.
I think I’ve posted previously about my dentist anxiety. The word anxiety actually makes it sound more light-hearted than what actually happens, like I just get butterflies in my stomach instead of SEARING AND ALMOST PHYSICAL PAIN FROM THE THOUGHT OF THE SADIST THAT IS THE DENTIST.
Not to be dramatic or anything.
Five months ago I had my consult with the oral surgeon about my wisdom teeth removal. I was so freaked out about it that I had to delegate the appointment-making to Mr. Zoo because left to myself, it never would have been done. To say the days leading up to The Appointment were stressful would be like saying I have only a small tolerance for cats and dogs. Not only did I experience insomnia – my brain going non-stop with all the terrible possible outcomes when I should have been sleeping – but my mind going to Very Bad Places, Inc. I’d like to blame this on the TWO page handout they had me sign at the consult that outlined all the bad things that could possibly happen during wisdom tooth extraction (delightful things ranging from bruising to BROKEN BONES or DEATH) but honestly I probably could have gotten there all on my own. In the days leading up to The Appointment, I did as much as I could around the house: did all the laundry; made sure there were meals in the fridge and freezer for Mr. Zoo since I wouldn’t feel like cooking; paid all the bills; etc, etc. At the time I managed to give myself a little chuckle in that I was preparing the house as if I was going to be in traction or in a full body cast for weeks rather than likely just out of it for a day or two. I did everything but write out my final wishes in case I died, not that the thought didn’t occur to me. Oh yes, it was a SUPER FUN TIME in my head those last days. I even refused to take something that would help me sleep because I had gone to That Very Bad Place and convinced myself that a sleep aid would cause me to die in my sleep. Rational, I was not.
Luckily? Drugs. Namely, Lorazepam. I had never experienced the goodness of any similar drug, but BOY HOWDY do I understand how people get hooked to prescription medication. I floated in a cloud into the Room of Torture where they did me a solid and gave me ANOTHER dose. WOOFREAKINGHOO! Then they gave me nitrous. HELLO. At this point I was so relaxed I think I fell asleep for a few seconds.
Unfortunately then I jolted awake when they gave me Novacaine. I woke up to find blurry heads covered in masks towering over my head holding a huge needle like some kind of freaking horror movie. The next thing I remember is not being able to breathe and freaking out until they adjusted the chair so I could sit upright, hyperventilating so much that my heartrate or blood pressure was way over 200 and they had to give me oxygen until I could calm down. AWESOME. Which is basically what happens at every dental appointment I have that involves anything beyond a cleaning, so all my enjoyment of the drugs that were supposedly there to “make me not care” was wasted. In fact, I’d wager that it made my reaction even worse, lulled as I was into the calming almost-sleep only to end up in the Freak Out Place I always end up in.
However, the actual tooth extraction probably only took 10-15 minutes once I got calmed down a little and was numbed up. And the recovery has been pretty much a non-event. The teeth were above surface and straight enough that they were able to just pop those suckers out (yes, I did hear crunching – yuck) and I didn’t require any sutures or anything. Once the Novacaine wore off I didn’t have any swelling and have only had minimal, sore throat pain. Bonus: I never have to do that again. Double bonus: I’ve eaten lots of popsicles, fries, and Wendy’s Frosties. To think I thought this would be the Best! Diet! Ever! I am pretty sure I’ve actually gained weight on my supposed “soft food” diet.
- Waiting for the fridge repair guy with bated breath once the clock hits the magic first minute of their two-hour window.
- Preemptively stressing out because the dogs will freak out and I’ll have to get them in another room before opening the door which will be difficult because of the aforementioned freaking out and yes I know I should just train them to be cool little cucumbers when new people come over but seriously have you met my dogs and you just try it so there.
- Knowing I’m going to have to pee at some point and then will try to hold it because what if he shows up when I just get to the bathroom but then I can’t hold it anymore and then almost die from the holding it too long.
- Obsessively checking my bank account online to figure out what we can afford for repairs, like if I check just one more time there might suddenly be money that I didn’t see before.
If nothing else, if the fridge turns out to be un-repairable, at least I won’t feel bad for not cleaning it in a while. So there, Fridge Fates!
