Pass the fried chicken, please.

Today, I said good-bye to my wisdom teeth. Like many people, I absolutely hate doctors, hospitals, needles, and anything that smells like sterile surgical utensils; so throwing me into a room with three medical professionals, a medical tray, a heart monitor, and an oxygen mask was almost enough to make my blood pressure skyrocket. Every beep of my irregular heartbeat threw my breathing into a new frenzy. Honestly, if I hadn’t been put under for the entire procedure, I probably would have passed out anyway. I woke up with no sense of time and a fuzzy memory, but managed to stand up and navigate myself into the waiting room while my mother came back for the debriefing. The nurse mostly talked to her, because I “wouldn’t remember most of what [she] said.” And while I definitely remember her saying that, I don’t remember much else (which is probably more due to my poor memory than any drug influence). We then stumbled out to the car with mother panicking most of the way, despite my insistence that I was fine, just a little unsteady. I made it home with no incidents, just a slight ache in the now toothless hole where either #1, 16, 17, or 32 previously resided. I have been consistently taking my medication, but it hasn’t really helped me sleep. My one-hour nap is pretty typical, regardless of any surgical procedure. The most aggravating part of this whole operation is the lack of solid food. I’m a huge fan of meat and pasta and anything that actually requires chewing. My steady diet of milkshakes, applesauce, and jello just isn’t cutting it. My stomach is already irritated with me because of the medication (and well, let’s face it, I’ve swallowed a lot of blood); the lack of real food is adding insult to injury. Hopefully tomorrow will be a little less…hungry.


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