J.ALL

OP Columnist

> serene

 

 

 

 

  

and that bike you passed
on to your little sister?

remember that shirt you passed
on to your little brother?

 

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When I left you last, I was in agony in the OP
room waiting, in vain I might add, for someone to
help me out with my dental woes. Not one of you
donated a single dollar, in fact no one even
checked on me for three days. No need for alarm,
I’m okay now. Nothing an IV for rehydration and
a morphine drip couldn't fix up. No hard feelings,
let's just let bygones be bygones.

I actually found a surgeon who was willing to
book me for emergency surgery AND he is allow-
ing me to pay him in reasonable installments. Very
nice guy and as | am still alive, I would say he’s a
pretty good surgeon. Things are feeling a bit bet-
ter now, but it was a really lousy experience, one
which I will share every gory detail with you. Here
goes, ano holds-barred recap of my adventures in
oral surgery.

It was easily the most revolting experience of my
life. First, 1 was put to sleep by a suspicious-look-
ing character that reeked of cigarette smoke, but
not before he undid my shirt and listened to my
heartbeat. This really didn’t seem all that strange
until I remembered that the current preferred
medical method is not to press one’s ear against
the patient's chest. I had never seen this guy before
and I began to wonder if maybe he was just a
wacko with a labcoat who wandered in to cop a
feel. Before I could really complete that thought I
was asleep, so I figure he must have been the anes-
thesiologist. When I awoke, there were no tell-tale
bruises on my inner thighs—all’s well that ends
well.

Waking up really sucked. I was alone in a little
beige room with fistfuls of gauze stuffed into my
mouth. | looked around for the surgeon (I hadn't
seen him before the surgery) and when I didn’t
find him, I looked for Smokey the Groper. No
one. Finally, after 15 minutes of falling in and out
of oblivion, a nurse came and took me to the wait-
ing room to await my ride. I wasn’t feeling any
pain, but I caught a glimpse of my reflection and
it was enough to make me start bawling. I was
hideous. Ugly red grooves were carved into my
face on either side of my purpled lips—the
impressions left from some horrible Clockwork
Orange-like device that had propped open my
mouth. My cheeks were swollen and looked as
though oatmeal had been stuffed just below the
surface of my skin, and there was a rivulet of dried
blood that ran from the corner of my mouth to
my left ear. The nurse was just about to comfort
me when my ride showed up. She looked very
relieved as she handed him my care instructions
and shut the office door behind us.

That first night was hell. As the local freezing

 

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thawed from my mouth, I became aware of
copper-tasting pulp that used to be smooth h
gum. The insides of my cheeks were gnarled, se
up hunks of flesh which constantly beca
trapped between my teeth whenever I bit do
At one point I rolled over and chomped off a li
piece of cheek, nearly passing out from the p:
and the sight of gushing blood. At that poin
reached past the painkillers my surgeon had p
scribed —the kind that keep you alert—to

mother’s endless supply of Tylenol 3s. And I sle
For about two hours. And then I took anot
Tylenol 3, vowing that if I awoke again bef
morning I would kill off the bottle of Wild Tur
under my bed. Thankfully, the pills kicked in.

The next day, I was a miserable cow. I was h
gry, but unwilling to eat even broth. My che
had doubled in sizé and were now mottled w
green and yellow bruises. Oh, did I mention
smell? People don’t like to talk about that,
after oral surgery you smell like old blood. That
like a slaughterhouse in the midday sun. I di
have many visitors. I passed the day moaning
watching trash television.

Day three was a bit better. I drank some br
and avoided mirrors. I hadn’t eaten in three da
so the soup tasted heavenly. The day en
badly—when I had to brush my teeth. I won't
into too much detail, but let's just say that too
brush bristles can pull out stitches. I treated mys
to a T3 nightcap with a bourbon chaser. Swe
demented dreams.

_ Day four was a hoot. I had to go to classes o
would fail a course if I missed this particu
forum. So, I dragged my puffy, reeking corpse
to the college and sat at the back of the ro
shooting hate darts at everyone. I hid behind
icebag and tried not to breathe on anyone. |
sure the class was very interesting, but I confes
really don’t remember any of it. I was a little p
occupied with my hideousness and the ache
was rocketing through my jaws.

And now, here I am on day five. Well enough
reminisce about my oral journey, yet not
enough to laugh about it. I ate a piece of bre
today. It was very exciting. My cheeks have alm
lost their Alfred Hitchcock quality, but are stil
spectacular yellow hue. I’ve weened myself off t
painkillers, saving a handful for a rainy d
Tomorrow, I return to school full time. I h
scads of homework to do and layers of concealer
apply before I walk into classes, so I should fly.
the great Stompin’ Tom says, “If you don’t get a
when you get to it, you won't get to it to get at
again.” End scene.

 

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