oakenguy

Percocet. Huh.

Today was my long-dreaded appointment with an oral surgeon to get the roots of two crumbled teeth extracted. Yes, imagine my joy. It was supposed to be the first of two visits since the teeth are in exact opposite sides of my mouth and my regular dentist didn't think it was a good idea to have me walking around with my entire mouth gone numb, but today's doctor looked like Einstein and felt like a cowboy (and frankly I was ready to agree to almost anything that would cut down on the number of future visits), so it was novocaine ahoy.

I'll give him credit: this doc is good. You'd say he's one of those "exudes an air of cheerful competence" people if you used that phrase...I've always distrusted it, personally, it makes it sound like 'cheerful competence' is a type of bean and the person ate a lot of them for dinner last night...but if you use that phrase, you'd definitely apply it to him. Also, Einstein lookalike. Also also, his name's Shibly Malouf, which is totally rockstar. (And also an anagram for 'Loyal Bum Fish'.)

Did you know that when you have an extraction from both sides of your jaw, you then get a roll of gauze the size of a twinkie tucked inside each cheek and you have to sit there with them jutting out of your mouth like two little tusks, feeling like the most pathetic alien in Mos Eisley?

I had not known this.

So now I'm on the couch floating on my percocet & antibiotic cocktail, occasionally touching my lips to see if I can feel anything yet (it's been five hours!), and feeling very, very grateful there were no paparazzi lurking in the bushes outside when I tried to eat spaghetti-os an hour ago. It's been that sort of day.