Unlike the father in the movie “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”, who believed in the curative powers of Windex, my mother was a firm believer in salt-water. If ever we were hurt she would come a- runnin’ with the water and shaker. Although it burned initially, an infection wouldn’t stand a chance and, quite quickly, a soothing feeling would be forthcoming.
Months ago, I wrote about the tooth I lost after biting into a chocolate bunny last Easter. Unfortunately, a year later, the fall-out from that incident continues.
This week I had the privilege of going to a periodontist for a surgery that I will not soon forget. I’ve had dental “procedures” before but even this specialist couldn’t use that simple word for what he was about to do. He, truthfully, warned me about “mega” swelling, bruising and pain. Even his kind assistant pre-operatively reiterated, “The surgery isn’t that bad but the aftermath is another story …” then she trailed off and quickly asked me what music I’d like to listen to. When I asked for a Christian music station she said, “I’ve never been asked that before.”
I found that difficult to believe because when would there be a more opportune time to cry out to God than when sitting in a dental chair?
She settled on music I wouldn’t hear anyway and we were off!
As I’d had with my wisdom teeth, I expected to be offered some sort of sedative to relax and make me forget, but my dreams of oblivion vanished when the doc said, “I don’t give anything through an IV.” Nice.
Three needles of local freezing later, however, my lower jaw could barely be felt. The digging and drilling began and it only took a jaw-wrenching hour until I was stitched up.
I didn’t feel all that bad when he was done. I actually felt proud of myself, having weathered the storm so well, and optimistically met my husband in the waiting vehicle with my five prescriptions in hand. We wisely got those filled and I took a few pills before beginning the over three-hour trek home.
I have had three babies. I took nothing for pain during any labours and I don’t remember crying but—I cried then—for at least half of the ride home. As the freezing dissipated, I felt as though a semi-truck had run over the lower half of my face and all I wanted was an epidural from the neck up. Before the narcotics kicked in, I would’ve gladly sprayed my gum hole with Windex or any amount of salt and water.
Days later my face is, indeed, the “mega” swollen and bruised I was promised. Thankfully, the pain is less and a strange numbness has set in. Hopefully, the salt water rinses I’ve prescribed are working.
I’d like to think about Easter treats again but … I cannot. In my present state of mind, I’m still mad and blaming it on the bunny!
