I've been back in the States since May 27th and I've been to the dentist's office four times in the span of those 17ish days. In my book, that's rather excessive. The result of these appointments was a wisdom teeth extraction surgery on Tuesday morning..."oh hey welcome back to America! We'll be ripping open your gums and viciously stealing your teeth."
So that happened and I'm currently in recovery mode, which has been a roller-coaster ride of extreme pain and Netflix bliss.
I was a little nervous about going under anesthesia. The only surgery I had before was the gall bladder removal when I was about 5 days from death and mostly unconscious. I was afraid of what it would be like to be fully aware of being put to sleep.
This was also a new stressful experience to combine with Addison's Disease. I asked my trusty FB forum for their input and called my endocrinologist. I spoke with the oral surgeon about any of her previous experience operating on Addison's patients and was thrilled to discover I wouldn't be her first.
We decided on a solu-cortef injection in my thigh an hour before the surgery was scheduled, so I wouldn't have to swallow 100 mg of hydrocortisone when I wasn't supposed to be eating or drinking in the first place. That needle was huge and unpleasant. But it was only just the beginning of the world of hangry pain.
The extraction of all four impacted teeth (yep, FOUR) was scheduled for 10:30 AM, but I wasn't taken to the back until past 11. I really appreciated how careful the nurses were when it came to Addison's Disease. They attached heart monitors and everything and the last thing I remember was Dr. Thomas telling me that what she was putting in my IV was supposed to relax me...
Then I woke up, groggy and confused. They wheeled me to the car and the first thing I irritably said to Shari, my driver, was "they asked me if I had ever had an IV before. PUHLEAZE people."
I proceeded to text and snapchat far too many people, and even called Megan in an attempt to talk with wads of gauze in my mouth.
Some of the recipients of my drugged-up texts may beg to differ, but I don't think I said anything too radically embarrassing.
I settled into bed on Tuesday afternoon, armed with antibiotics, back-up gauze, oxycodone, and Orange is the New Black. I had been saving Season 2 for this particular occasion and feasted on the faces of familiar characters like they were family.
I managed a few bites of ice cream in the afternoon and the Strawberry Surfrider smoothie from Jamba Juice that Megan brought me was a lifesaver for dinner. I think she was slightly disappointed that my face wasn't as swollen as she expected. It sure didn't stop her from taking an Instagram photo though...
I slept fairly well on Tuesday night, propped up against several pillows to ward off swollen chipmunk cheeks. It didn't work as well as I had hoped and I woke up on Wednesday morning with a much fuller face.
The worst was yet to come. I took my oxycodone pills to ward off the pain as often as the bottle instructed, until I started to notice what was either aggravating side effects or an unfortunate allergic reaction. My whole body was hot, red, and itchy, with alternate chills, and my throat felt tight. I immediately switched to Advil and Benadryl to combat the effects. The oral surgeon couldn't prescribe alternate painkillers until Thursday morning, but that first dose of hydrocodon was bliss, especially combined with a sleeping pill.
I was feeling so good I even tried to eat chicken for dinner on Thursday evening. Mistake. My jaw wasn't ready for so much movement so I aborted the chicken mission and stuck to my trusty mashed potatoes.
My face is still a little chubbier than normal, but I attempted my class this morning. I had already missed two days in a row and didn't want to get behind in such a fast-paced term, especially with a subject as riveting as The Art of War. A Very Lucky Chipmunk's reward for attending this 8 AM will be a pain pill soon after.