You spend 25 minutes writing a single paragraph, 5 of which were spent actually writing, and 20 of which are spent googling different types of hammers because there's this one kind of hammer in your head that you don't know the name of, but want to use in a metaphor... while writing a piece of world building info that will never make it into even the rough draft of the actual manuscript.
But really. It was a great metaphor.
Maybe I can still find a way to use it, even though I'm pretty sure rhinoceroses don't exist in this universe.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Apparently I'm wiser now.
What went out?
Word that I was losing my wisdom teeth.
What came in?
The horror stories.
Some people still can't feel their jaw. Some people vomited through their stitches from the anesthesia. Some people had small chips implanted in the holes left by the wisdom teeth that now shock them whenever they use the word "state," which is, incidentally, one of the 100 most common words in the English language, and the only one of those 100 that is of Latin origin.
In short, people's wisdom teeth experiences made me nervous.
Did this stop me?
No! Of course not!
I wanted nothing more than to have four teeth ripped out of my head! I wanted it so much, I forked out half a thousand dollars for it!
And... well... it was nice to get rid of the sideways, rotting molar in the back of my mouth that probably should have come out 5+ years ago.
So, this past Friday, I went to meet my fate. Nausea, numbness, agonizing pain, pieces of jaw shattered off, dry sockets, drugs that render you useless for a week, inability to open the mouth, inability to eat more than a teaspoon of pudding at a time... all of these loomed over me as I stepped into the oral surgeon's room.
I'll admit, I was surprised to see a regular dentist's chair. It makes sense... they were operating on the same thing dentists clean. I'm not sure what I expected. Maybe a white room, surgical equipment, a doctor who stretches a latex glove over his fingers and snaps it dramatically. (Actually... that latex glove thing happened at my first gynecologist appointment. I laughed out loud... which became real awkward real fast, considering what that latex glove did next. Apparently gynecologists are no laughing matter.)
**Ahem.**
Back to the dentist story.
Anyway, I settled myself into the chair, and listened attentively to the post-surgery instructions, hoping I would be able to remember them. They laid me back and placed a mask over my face. This was it. This was the mask. The infamous laughing gas.
Nothing happened.
"Is something supposed to happen?" I asked, trying to take deeper breaths.
"Not until we get the I.V. in," the doctor answered, holding up a pointy something that glistened in the florescent lights like a tooth that didn't need extraction.
Gulp.
Nobody mentioned an I.V.
I whimpered. "Aw, man! I hate getting stabbed in the arm."
The doctor tried to assure me that it was not stabbing - stabbing is straight down, and this was more of a sideways poking motion. I'm sorry, but this is the definition of "stab:"
stab (st
b)
And that was definitely a thrusting motion into my skin... through quite a few nerves too.
The assistant was like, "Do you need me to hold your hand?"
Okay, I don't hate it that much. Nothing to make me toughen up quite like treating me like I'm five. Seriously, I don't have a deathly fear of needles or anything; I just don't like having them shoved through the flesh of my inner elbow.
So, I had the mask on, and the I.V. in, and the procedure was about to begin.
This was it. Time for the torture to... hey... is the ceiling compressing in on itself? That's funny...
"I think it's starting to work," I told the...
"I'm going to go get your husband."
Carl magically appeared next to me.
Time had compressed, and I had traveled forward 2 whole hours! I was a time traveler!
And I felt GREAT!!!
Oh man... I was so happy! I can't remember when I last felt that free and incredible and HAPPY!!! I could totally do oral surgery every single day to feel that good!
"Let's do that again!" I announced to Carl.
A couple pieces of gauze appeared in my mouth. "You need to bite down on them," the girl nurse thingy told me.
I bit. And bit and bit and bit! Because you know what bites? Tyrannosaurus rexes bite! They bite hard.
"I'm a T-Rex!" I told Carl, munching on my gauze. "Rawr! Rawr, rawr, rawr, RAAAAAAAWR!"
And then I doubled over laughing. I held my elbows against my ribs and batted my little T-Rex arms, kicking my legs, rawring, and laughing hysterically.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, it registered that I was acting like a lunatic. Or possibly just being a total moron. But I didn't care! Being a tyrannosaurus rex was WAY too much fun!!!
Then I realized my lips were dry. I had my mouth part way open from the gauze, and I couldn't reach my lips to lick them, plus my tongue was dry from breathing with my mouth open for so long.
I tried to communicate with my husband. "Curl! Moo needm toom lrrk mmrm lrmps."
He looked at me. Same expression on his face as when I was rawring at him.
I tried again, moving the gauze enough to get words out. "Carl, lick my lips! You need to lick my lips."
And the mean person just wouldn't do it! They were so dry! They had to be licked, and Carl was the only one there with spit in his mouth. He should lick them for me.
I reached my fingers, caked in blood, up to my face and touched my parched lips, which were also caked in blood. My pleading had no effect. He still shook his head and said, "I'm not going to lick your lips."
He wouldn't slap my butt either.
I really don't understand what was wrong.
When I had regained control of my ability to breathe without hytserical giggling, I was escorted to a wheel chair, and from there to the car. By the time we made it home, the high had worn off.
And my face hurt.
It's a few days later, and things still hurt, but it's really not bad. I had no nausea, permanent numbness, agonizing pain that lasted more than a flash, shattered jaw pieces, dry sockets, drugs that rendered me useless, inability to open my mouth, and the day after surgery I ate a BBQ cheese burger with onion rings on it. My top sockets filled in within a day, and my bottom sockets are almost closed now. I have one lump on the side of my jaw - the side that had the sideways tooth - that is still swollen and aches like crazy whenever my iburpofen wears off, but otherwise I'm pain free.
All in all, I think it was worth it.
I mean, not everybody gets a chance to be a tyrannosaurus rex before they die.
Word that I was losing my wisdom teeth.
What came in?
The horror stories.
Some people still can't feel their jaw. Some people vomited through their stitches from the anesthesia. Some people had small chips implanted in the holes left by the wisdom teeth that now shock them whenever they use the word "state," which is, incidentally, one of the 100 most common words in the English language, and the only one of those 100 that is of Latin origin.
In short, people's wisdom teeth experiences made me nervous.
Did this stop me?
No! Of course not!
I wanted nothing more than to have four teeth ripped out of my head! I wanted it so much, I forked out half a thousand dollars for it!
And... well... it was nice to get rid of the sideways, rotting molar in the back of my mouth that probably should have come out 5+ years ago.
So, this past Friday, I went to meet my fate. Nausea, numbness, agonizing pain, pieces of jaw shattered off, dry sockets, drugs that render you useless for a week, inability to open the mouth, inability to eat more than a teaspoon of pudding at a time... all of these loomed over me as I stepped into the oral surgeon's room.
I'll admit, I was surprised to see a regular dentist's chair. It makes sense... they were operating on the same thing dentists clean. I'm not sure what I expected. Maybe a white room, surgical equipment, a doctor who stretches a latex glove over his fingers and snaps it dramatically. (Actually... that latex glove thing happened at my first gynecologist appointment. I laughed out loud... which became real awkward real fast, considering what that latex glove did next. Apparently gynecologists are no laughing matter.)
**Ahem.**
Back to the dentist story.
Anyway, I settled myself into the chair, and listened attentively to the post-surgery instructions, hoping I would be able to remember them. They laid me back and placed a mask over my face. This was it. This was the mask. The infamous laughing gas.
Nothing happened.
"Is something supposed to happen?" I asked, trying to take deeper breaths.
"Not until we get the I.V. in," the doctor answered, holding up a pointy something that glistened in the florescent lights like a tooth that didn't need extraction.
Gulp.
Nobody mentioned an I.V.
I whimpered. "Aw, man! I hate getting stabbed in the arm."
The doctor tried to assure me that it was not stabbing - stabbing is straight down, and this was more of a sideways poking motion. I'm sorry, but this is the definition of "stab:"
stab (st
b)
v. stabbed, stab·bing, stabs
v.tr.3. To make a thrusting or poking motion at or into.And that was definitely a thrusting motion into my skin... through quite a few nerves too.
The assistant was like, "Do you need me to hold your hand?"
Okay, I don't hate it that much. Nothing to make me toughen up quite like treating me like I'm five. Seriously, I don't have a deathly fear of needles or anything; I just don't like having them shoved through the flesh of my inner elbow.
So, I had the mask on, and the I.V. in, and the procedure was about to begin.
This was it. Time for the torture to... hey... is the ceiling compressing in on itself? That's funny...
"I think it's starting to work," I told the...
"I'm going to go get your husband."
Carl magically appeared next to me.
Time had compressed, and I had traveled forward 2 whole hours! I was a time traveler!
And I felt GREAT!!!
Oh man... I was so happy! I can't remember when I last felt that free and incredible and HAPPY!!! I could totally do oral surgery every single day to feel that good!
"Let's do that again!" I announced to Carl.
A couple pieces of gauze appeared in my mouth. "You need to bite down on them," the girl nurse thingy told me.
I bit. And bit and bit and bit! Because you know what bites? Tyrannosaurus rexes bite! They bite hard.
"I'm a T-Rex!" I told Carl, munching on my gauze. "Rawr! Rawr, rawr, rawr, RAAAAAAAWR!"
And then I doubled over laughing. I held my elbows against my ribs and batted my little T-Rex arms, kicking my legs, rawring, and laughing hysterically.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, it registered that I was acting like a lunatic. Or possibly just being a total moron. But I didn't care! Being a tyrannosaurus rex was WAY too much fun!!!
Then I realized my lips were dry. I had my mouth part way open from the gauze, and I couldn't reach my lips to lick them, plus my tongue was dry from breathing with my mouth open for so long.
I tried to communicate with my husband. "Curl! Moo needm toom lrrk mmrm lrmps."
He looked at me. Same expression on his face as when I was rawring at him.
I tried again, moving the gauze enough to get words out. "Carl, lick my lips! You need to lick my lips."
And the mean person just wouldn't do it! They were so dry! They had to be licked, and Carl was the only one there with spit in his mouth. He should lick them for me.
I reached my fingers, caked in blood, up to my face and touched my parched lips, which were also caked in blood. My pleading had no effect. He still shook his head and said, "I'm not going to lick your lips."
He wouldn't slap my butt either.
I really don't understand what was wrong.
When I had regained control of my ability to breathe without hytserical giggling, I was escorted to a wheel chair, and from there to the car. By the time we made it home, the high had worn off.
And my face hurt.
It's a few days later, and things still hurt, but it's really not bad. I had no nausea, permanent numbness, agonizing pain that lasted more than a flash, shattered jaw pieces, dry sockets, drugs that rendered me useless, inability to open my mouth, and the day after surgery I ate a BBQ cheese burger with onion rings on it. My top sockets filled in within a day, and my bottom sockets are almost closed now. I have one lump on the side of my jaw - the side that had the sideways tooth - that is still swollen and aches like crazy whenever my iburpofen wears off, but otherwise I'm pain free.
All in all, I think it was worth it.
I mean, not everybody gets a chance to be a tyrannosaurus rex before they die.
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