I want a new mouth

May 7, 2006

Wisdom teeth are called so because of the wisdom you acquire about pain when you have them taken out. How to handle it, more importantly. I think that finally hit me last night when I was lying in bed and holding my head, trying to focus not on my giant, swollen face or the taste of blood or the incredibly awful stabbing pain in my lower right jaw, but on the comfort of the situation…the blanket’s warmth and how it felt good to lay down since I was exhausted. It’s weird how when you get down to it and you’re in a situation like that, you can separate or channel things in your head. The pain is always there, of course, but there are layers of comfort and agony to sort through and you can make it hurt a little less. A little.

I tried to focus on the “good” and ignore the hurt for about 4 hours or so until I thought it was safe to take another couple of pills and I downed those fuckers as quickly as possible. Lesson learned: pills good, pain bad, thinking happy thoughts doesn’t really work. Try to do something fun with a knife stuck in your jaw and see if you can focus on the “fun”. It doesn’t happen, unless you’re some sort of Zen master or something.

I didn’t sleep much, and when I did, I drooled blood all over my pillow. What fun — every 45 minutes or so I’d wake up to glance at my TV, take a drink of water, and move my face out of the muck. The Mr. Olympia competition came on all through out the early morning hours, but I couldn’t be bothered to reach down, find the remote, and change it in between unconsciousness, so along with the pain and blood and being unable to sleep I was tortured with watching sweaty manbodies pulsate and flex any time I opened my eyes. In high definition. After taking opiates all day, that was a little surreal.

Oddly enough, it’s just one side of my mouth that is giving me utter hell; everything else is minimal in comparison. I actually remember waking up through the anesthesia mid-surgery and clenching my fist to try and fend off the searing pain I felt there, not once, but a couple of times. Crazy. When they were done, the doc said they had “a fun time” removing my lower teeth, and now, a couple days later, I think I know what he meant. He must have had a construction crew there pummeling the side of my mouth with a fucking jackhammer or something. That side of my face is just FUBAR.

Work tomorrow is either going to be impossible or one huge pain in the ass. The last thing I wanna do is go in there and inhale dust all day long, all the while I’m worried about splitting open the sutures or not healing and getting dry socket — dry socket being ten times more painful than what I’m experiencing now, apparently. Fun, fun fun, and all for some teeth that shouldn’t be there anyway…

Well, I’m going to go roll around in misery and pop pills until my stomach lining gives way and I vomit blood now — have a great day!


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