Thursday, April 2, 2009

Adios Third Molars

The last few months, Brad has been complaining about pain in his jaws. He even developed TMJ (something that makes your jaw lock up). The dentist told him it was from chewing too much gum, and if he would stop that habit, the TMJ would subside. He wasn't really satisfied with that solution, so he visited a chiropractor, and they decided that it was a result from when he got hit by a car when he was younger and landed on the windshield chin first. He made regular visits to the chiropractor, hoping that the massage therapy would relieve the discomfort. In the last couple of weeks, though, he's been saying it's getting worse and that it has become this constant ache in his mouth, specifically his back teeth.

Last week, he began wondering if it could have anything to do with his wisdom teeth, which he still had thanks to the "go ahead with that big mouth" that he got back in high school. We were both under the impression that he'd have room for them to grow in, and they would never be a problem. But with all of this soreness coming up, he decided to go to the dentist for a consultation specifically regarding his wisdom teeth this past Monday. Turns out they needed to come out ASAP, and were the cause for all of his troubles. They said that his bottom two were both impacted and scheduled him for an extraction appointment two days later. Yesterday.

Poor Brad.

He was so nervous about surgery. He'd never had any anesthesia, not even local; he's definitely never been "put to sleep." He hasn't ever even had a cavity that needed to be filled! My 25-year-old husband had never been numbed in any way, shape, or form in his entire life. He was nervous. (But in a really macho way, you know.)

The stories that were told to him by each person that he spoke to about the topic didn't help his nervousness. Many people had horror stories of ooziness and dry sockets. Not to mention, the only experience he had ever witnessed was mine, and it was not pretty. I reacted badly to the medicine and vomited continually for about 24 hours - not to mention all the stupid things I said and the random people I gave high fives. He did not want to embarrass himself the way I had. (I'll admit to it. I'm not ashamed.)

The surgery didn't last any more than 35 minutes. They interrupted my nap in the waiting room to inform me that he was done and they'd walk him out to my car if I'd just pull up to the awning. Wow, that's easy.

Or not quite.

He immediately felt queasy when we got in the car. His biggest fear. (Who likes to vomit??) So we stepped back out and knelt by the bushes. A nice doctor noticed us and brought us back inside where they gave him some alcohol swabs to smell. I was oh-so-concerned about my never-weak husband, and was trying hard to support him without making him feel too vulnerable.

That was until he started talking. I couldn't help but laugh every time he said a thing. With all that gauze in his mouth, trying to articulate himself as he was wobbling around in the chair. He over gestured every word, because he knew nobody could understand what he was attempting to say. For some reason, every time he talked, he opened his eyes really wide, flailed about his arms, and yelled. For real. One of the first things he said was, "At least I'm not crazy!!" while he through his arms back and forth above his head. I said, "What?? You're not??" "LIKE YOU!!" he shouted as he pointed vehemently in my direction. Apparently, he was relieved that he didn't believe that his worst nightmare had been realized. I could hardly keep him from noticing my laughter.

He insisted over and over that he "feels fine, but just might throw up. But other than that, I'm fine. Except I feel like throwing up. But I'm really fine." He probably told me that 4 times, each time making graphic hand gestures. He finally said, "I don't want to throw up in the car." As I was reassuring him that that would not happen, and that is why we were sitting back down in the office, he interrupted to say, "I'd throw up in YOUR LAP!" and gestured vomiting in my direction. When I began to object to that solution, he yelled, "APRIL FOOLS!!!" and threw his arms in the air before slapping his knees. He thought he was a riot. That was the point at which I stopped trying to hide my laughter. If he wanted to be funny and make me laugh, I'd just go ahead and let it all out.

The doctor suggested for me to give him the nausea medicine (that we had requested prior to the surgery) as soon as possible since he was already prone to having a sensitive stomach. Brad interrupted to inform the doctor and nurses that "It's just 'cause I'm a sensitive guy!!" (arms flailing about.) I had to translate for anybody else to know what he said, before a nurse acknowledged that there weren't many of those left in the world. He enthusiastically agreed and took the credit for being the last one standing on earth. She notified him that they've never had a man cry before, but he could be the first if he wanted to be. To which he tried, with all of his might, to squeeze out a few tears in order to impress the pretty nurse, and then gave up, throwing his hands in the air and unscrunching his face.

A light bulb went off in his mind (visibly, he was so expressive!) as he remembered he was supposed to call his mom when the surgery was over. "Call Mom!! Call Mom!!" I tried to hush him without falling over from laughter at his exaggerated behavior, and assured him that I would call her as soon as we were safely in the car. He would have none of it. "I want to call her!!"

"You? Honey, she won't be able to understand a word you say. You have gauze all in your mouth..."

"I know! It'll be hiLARious!!!!" as he throws his hands above his head. There was no arguing with this guy...

He wasn't quite sure about the numbness. He touched his cheek and let me know that he couldn't feel it. I told him that was because of the medicine. He touched his other cheek, and said the same thing. I assured him that he didn't want to feel his cheeks, and that it was a good thing. He proceeded to touch every inch of his face: "I can't feel that. I can't feel that. I can't feel that, either. And I can't feel that, or that. I can't feel that..." Honestly, how am I to handle this strange man that so closely resembles my husband??

We finally made it back out to the car (slowly and carefully). I buckled him in and turned the AC on in his direction to keep the queasiness down. He mentioned calling his mom again, and further insisted that he be the one to call her. I started to text her a warning message, but he saw me. He accused, "Who are you talking to??"

"I'm texting." - trying to avoid answering the question.

"Who are you texting??"

"Your mom."

He was completely offended that I was communicating with her before him. He passionately grabbed his phone and was further hurt when I offered to help him find her name in his address book. "HEY MOM! -pause- Hang on. (To me) Did they have any problems?? (To his mom) Nope! -pause- Okay, here she is." And he handed me the phone. Wow. She must know tricks.

He fell asleep in the car and continued to rest while I ran into the drugstore to get his prescriptions filled. I gave him strict orders to not move an inch. Once I had been carefully instructed by the pharmacist on how to implement his medication, I went back out to the running car and was very relieved to find Brad had not driven off anywhere. He took his pills right when we got home and sat on the couch. He was surprised at how refreshed and awake he felt after the short nap in the car. He gladly claimed the remote control and laid back to enjoy some baseball while he sucked on his gauze.

In about 4 minutes, he was out cold. He fell asleep somewhere around 2:30 in the afternoon and didn't wake up again until after 11:00 this morning. (Except for my regular interruptions every four hours to have him take the next dose of medicine before the previous one had time to wear off.)

Hopefully, he'll fully recover soon. We have friends flying in from Idaho to visit this weekend, not to mention his visiting family from Indiana, this weekend, as well. The doctor said that the anti-swelling medicine would stay in his system for 48 hours and to not be alarmed when he started "puffing up" after two days. Which means he's going to look like a chipmunk just in time for their visit. We'll have to take tons of pictures.

Edit: the pictures of Brad have been removed. "Someone" (I know who you are.) spilled the beans and Brad got upset. If you were lucky enough to see them, I hope you committed them to memory, because they are no longer available.

5 comments:

Darlene said...

LOVE that you posted those miserable pics of him. heehee. you crack me up.

Erin Howell said...

I absolutely love the post.. (although it was a novel!)... but I sure am tempted to tell Brad. for real.

Bonnie Baker said...

this is So funny!! I would have paid money to see it. I knew he would be a riot! I hope he is feeling back to normal soon. I know you are taking super good care of him. You are such a great wife.

Anonymous said...

Oooh you're so mean! I'd have been so mad at my wife if she'd done what you did, taking pictures and all.

Chara said...

When I had my teeth out I offered Josh sex in the recovery room. He declined. He's such a gentleman.

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