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He kept saying "You're doing great! We're almost done now!" over and over, I couldn't quite check my watch but I don't think he expected the tooth to offer that much resistance. As I was sitting there, my brain idly registered that being a Big Hairy Oaf was a good thing when you are an oral surgeon with a string of pretty acronyms appended to your name, because the sweat gets caught in the hairs on your forearms and doesn't quite end up on your patient's face.
And sweat he did. The tooth put up a good fight.
If my jaws hadn't been held apart by a piece of plastic, and if I hadn't been so busy keeping my tongue out of his way, this is what I would have yelled:
"I am not doing great. In fact I am not doing anything. I am not supposed to be doing anything, except hold onto the armchair like a demented clam in the off chance you pull too hard and lift me off. YOU are The One. You are expected to do somethiing. So now SHUT UP AND PULL.
I won't tell you what he did. I do not want to know what he did either.
I came home still trembling, Husband fed me lukewarm chocolate in a big bowl and the painkillers Dr. Hairy had prescribed. A lovely cocktail of tylenol and codeine.
Codeine, oh wow. My brain came undone at the seams, and I spent the next 30 hours brainlessly sprawled on the bed. I deserve the Best Starfish Impersonation prize, Husband told me. Huh. I wanted to go online and whine a little but couldn't quite face the stairs, and wasn't sure I knew how to spell pain anymore anyway.
So. Alive, kicking, and ready to bite anytime. But only on the left side.
And sweat he did. The tooth put up a good fight.
If my jaws hadn't been held apart by a piece of plastic, and if I hadn't been so busy keeping my tongue out of his way, this is what I would have yelled:
"I am not doing great. In fact I am not doing anything. I am not supposed to be doing anything, except hold onto the armchair like a demented clam in the off chance you pull too hard and lift me off. YOU are The One. You are expected to do somethiing. So now SHUT UP AND PULL.
I won't tell you what he did. I do not want to know what he did either.
I came home still trembling, Husband fed me lukewarm chocolate in a big bowl and the painkillers Dr. Hairy had prescribed. A lovely cocktail of tylenol and codeine.
Codeine, oh wow. My brain came undone at the seams, and I spent the next 30 hours brainlessly sprawled on the bed. I deserve the Best Starfish Impersonation prize, Husband told me. Huh. I wanted to go online and whine a little but couldn't quite face the stairs, and wasn't sure I knew how to spell pain anymore anyway.
So. Alive, kicking, and ready to bite anytime. But only on the left side.
