The 8th Nerve

Steve got his wisdom teeth taken out today. Post-anesthesiac Steve is nearly as funny ashypnotized Steve. I went in and he was all chipmunk-cheeked and groggy, with his eyes closed and a cute, questioning look on his face which he maintained throughout my conversation with the nurse about post-care.

The surgeon stopped by briefly and Steve thanked her and reached out his arms for a big hug. We all laughed and he kept holding out his arms and insisting, so finally she relented and gave him a hug. I’m sure the fact that she is a willowy blonde had NOTHING to do with it. She said goodbye and left. Ten minutes later, Steve started asking about her and wasn’t she going to say goodbye?

The nurse explained that Steve might have some bruising because he has fair skin, to which Steve replied “I’m fair…and I’m hot.” We patted him on the shoulders and agreed that he was hot. Steve then started asking about his teeth “that were in my mouth” and where were they and could he have them. The nurse apologized and said they were already thrown away and he was the first patient ever to ask for his teeth back. Steve was infused with sadness, longing for his teeth that used to be in his mouth.

This was followed by some time spent trying to get Steve to open his eyes and sit up, followed by close calls and near collapses, and wondering in a hurt tone where was the doctor and was she going to say goodbye? and eventually he was on his feet. We propped him up on either side and he shuffled along, taking big elaborate steps whenever there was a transition from tile flooring to carpet.

We made it home and Steve has been asleep ever since. He’s probably dreaming about the surgeon, but hey, I’ve got my orthodontist.

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Oct 20th 2005Family & I Laughed When