A few days ago, as I sat here waiting to be escorted to the oral surgeon for my tooth extraction, I was painfully aware that I was hungry and thirsty. My orders were to eat or drink nothing for the eight hours before the procedure because I was having general anesthesia. If this were a typical work day, at that time of the morning I wouldn't be eating or drinking yet anyway. It's the fact that I absolutely could not have anything that made me acutely aware of wanting it. But when I came home, I couldn’t eat much of anything anyway—at least for several hours.
I was woozy and a little unsteady when standing, and, as the Novocain (which I don't remember getting) wore off, a tolerable ache set in.
I was disappointed to learn that the oral surgeon did not put in an implant right after the extraction, so I'll have to return for that procedure in several weeks. But I’ve been that route before, and though it's not fun, I can do it. Heck, I might even lose a few pounds while I can't eat for a while. (Always look for the silver lining...)
In a few hours, I felt much better, with no real pain at all. It was a clean extraction, with a few dissolving stitches. Now all I have to do is hope my dentist can make a temporary bridge that I can wear until a more permanent fix is in place.
Ever since I discovered my dysfunctional tooth and learned that I'll have a big upper left gap for a while, I have threatened to get a dummy, dress it up in something I might wear, and start throwing my voice while talking through clenched teeth. And you know how, on TV, those dummies start saying things—mean things—that the person operating it wouldn't dare say? I can’t help wondering if I might blurt out an insult or two, then look at my dummy with shock.
But as I get older, I don’t have much meanness in me, at least not toward my friends and family. It’s those politicians I’d like to lambast, along with Charlie Sheen, whose behavior threatens to cut short my favorite irreverent TV show.
