MrsMouthy Has Some Work Done

I sent the boys to my parents’ house on Wednesday night because Thursday was a big day for me.  I had a 9:15 appointment to get prepped for my implants.

When I told my girlfriends I was getting implants the day before, they broke out into applause.  I was a little less enthusiastic, being the one that was going under the knife and all, but I was looking forward to being put to sleep for a couple hours.

My surgeon is actually a very close friend of the family and one of the best surgeons probably in the world.  I know because I have seen his silverware drawer.  If you ever saw his silverware drawer, you’d know he’s the guy you would want operating on you, too.  We had him over for dinner a week before the surgery and Kevin finally got to ask the question he had been wanting to ask:

“So, how big are my wife’s implants going to be?” 

He laughed and said, “48 millimeters.”

Oh—did I forget to mention that these are dental implants?  If you’re anything like my friends, you have stopped applauding now and are looking at me with empathy and disappointment.  Sorry guys.  I didn’t realize how much everyone wanted to see me with a giant pair of knockers.

The reason I needed two new teeth is long and boring.  All you need to know is that it started 20 years ago with a root canal, me holding off for insurance to start up, a piece of bread chewed on the wrong side of my mouth, a dental bridge, 20 years, and a second rotten tooth.

Thursday was honestly one of the best days I’ve had this summer.  Kevin and I woke up to an otherwise empty house and, not having any fights to break up, breakfasts to make, or butts to wipe, we watched a movie while refraining from eating or drinking anything before my surgery.  At the doctor’s office I was given a pink drink that made my worries go away, then nitrous oxide that made me sleepier than usual, and then I vaguely heard someone say, “Here comes the IV.”  It felt like a gentle hug with so many drugs in my system.  From another planet I heard Dr. Reed asked if I know what a bear without teeth is called.  I told him I didn’t.  He said, “A gummy bear!”  And with that, I was out.*

I have no memories of a tooth being pulled out of my mouth, or of two screws being drilled into my jaw or of the stitches that were sewn through my gums afterward.  I am happy to go through life having no recollection of that particular hour of my life.

After the surgery I was moved to a room to sleep off the rest of the meds, and when the nurse came to tell me it was time to go home I said, “Can I have just five more minutes please?”  At least, that’s what I’m told I said.  I really don’t remember much of the afternoon, except asking Kevin if he knows what a bear without teeth is called and then telling him I didn’t know either. 

Then I had the rest of the day off to watch a movie that I have no recollection of watching, take pills when Kevin handed them to me, and sleep whenever I wanted.  In the evening I felt myself again so I went out for an early girls’ night and then a late date night with Kevin afterwards.  We woke up early the next morning because we have forgotten how to sleep in, so we walked down to the local coffee shop (i.e. Starbucks), walked home on the trail, and then Kevin went to work while I spent the morning catching up on housework and paperwork.  It all felt like a a dream—a slow and lovely dream, and that’s only partly the drugs talking. 

In conclusion, I highly recommend oral surgery for anyone who is in need of a good night’s sleep or who really needs a break from the kids or who is too cheap to rent movies and wants to save money by watching the same one over and over again.  It’s really the perfect solution.

Just take my advice and go to the guy with the best silverware drawer.

Baked halibut with chimichurri
Green beans with dill
Purple potatoes with bacon and caramelized onion
Fresh blueberry pie

*Actually, I wasn’t.  I believe I asked back, “What is a chima character’s favorite lunch?”  Dr. Reed didn’t know, so I answered, “Mac ‘n chi!”  Then I was out.

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