If you follow me on instagram you've noticed a series of pitiful looking posts.
On Friday morning I went in to my periodontist's office for surgery.
It's sort of a long story.
When I was in Jr. high my family dentist noticed a receding gum-line on one of my bottom front teeth. In high school we attempted to tackle the problem. If my gum-line continued to recede it would eventually expose enough sensitive bone that my tooth would die. Bad news bears. So I had one procedure done my senior year, the cutting of the "frenum", aka the gum tissue that was overly attached to my bottom lip and was thereby causing the tissue to pull away from my tooth.
That was not fun.
The summer after I graduated I had a gum-graft done. It hurt but It was pretty cut and dry. I remember being annoyed that I wasn't allowed to brush my teeth properly and was restricted to certain foods for a period of time and that really was probably the worst part.
It always stresses me out beyond comprehension to have any kind of work done on my mouth, and being awake for these procedures was almost the end of me.
Later after I had had sufficient time to heal, it was evident that the gum-graft didn't take.
We found another doctor.
Two years later, I went in for a consultation. That was in February. That same day we made an appointment for the surgery.
It wasn't until I got home from work Thursday night and checked my voicemail that I even remembered that my appointment had been set for the following day.
I guess in a way it was good that I had forgotten, it gave me less time to work myself up about it.
As I was lead to the dentist's chair the nurse made a comment "Well, don't look so excited to be here!", she said playfully.
too bad it only made me want to punch her in the face.
They were setting me up to be anesthetized when the panic set in.
They couldn't find a vein. Poked me here and there and finally settled on the back of my hand.
As the drugs settled in my vision flickered a bit, and I laughed as the nurse recounted the story of someone fainting and then I was gone.
My last meal the night before.
Water, cookies and a turkey and pepper jack sandwich.
Before leaving the house for the periodontist's, making a "Kam face".
Sitting in the waiting room with dad.
Home at last and feeling like death.
Brett brought me Kam's letter for the week and I struggled opening it. I read it and had to read it again today because I couldn't remember for the life of me what it had said. Drugs are so bad.
They left their equipment on me. Electrodes to help them make sure I was still alive while under anesthesia. Hurt like pooey taking those things off. There were three.
I had an adverse reaction to the narcotic they prescribed. I couldn't hold anything down and felt nauseas even as I tried to sleep. Basically friday night was not a fun one. I had camped out on my parents bed since I got home and when I finally fell asleep my Dad didn't want to wake me, so he slept on the couch and Maman and I were bedmates for the night.
Brett is always super sweet when I'm sick or afflicted. He made me jello and soup, and brought me anything I asked for. Changed the DVDs so I didn't have to get up as I made my way through the fourth season of Ugly Betty. He's a cute one.
I remembered that the last time all this had happened Kam had been there. Watching Shirley Temple movies with me as I cried for no reason. My head on his shoulder as I fell asleep still spouting delirious words. I found myself wishing he were here. So I took comfort in Lovie Face and I squeezed him tighter and whispered things to him.
So basically, I'm not dying, but I sure felt like it for a minute there.
All's well that ends well, right?
Love you guys.