Don’t I look calm? Serene? Nary a care in the world? It’s the drugs.
Just an update on yesterday’s post, because I know you all care VERY DEEPLY: Our missing fence section never showed up, yesterday. Around 4:00 Otto called the fence company to say YES HI I AM WONDERING IF YOU EVER DO WHAT YOU’LL SAY YOU’LL DO and was told that our crew was on another job and then the equipment broke and they were delayed and blah blah blah FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, WE PROMISE.
First thing this morning the foreman of a THIRD crew (just in case you’re keeping count) showed up, and proceeded to sit in my yard just outside my office window—that wasn’t creepy at all—for an hour until his crew showed. They are working on closing the fence off with the final section, now. But it still needs repairs/replacements and we’re not dealing with any of that until next week when we get back from camping. So! Let us now ignore the fence! LALALALA!
Instead, let’s talk about my poor tongue.
Remember how last month my dentist decided I needed a tongue biopsy? I dutifully followed all instructions and took myself to the oral surgeon, who looked at my tongue for approximately three seconds and told me to come back for a biopsy. “Do you think you need to be sedated for that?” he asked. I must’ve looked confused. “We do it with novocaine, and it’s not painful, really, but if you’re a nervous sort you may want us to sedate you for it. But I think you’ll be okay!” I agreed, because it’s a teeny patch on the side of my tongue, and I’ve had novocaine before, and I figured I was going to be driving myself to this appointment and therefore shouldn’t be loopy.
But as the Day of the Biopsy neared, I did get a little nervous. Just a little. And so when Otto offered to come with me I congratulated him on his excellent idea, and as he drove me over there yesterday I popped an expired Ativan, hoping it would keep the nerves at bay.
It turns out that expired Ativan doesn’t actually work as well as the kind that hasn’t been in your possession for ten years. Go figure.
I soldiered on, though, and got checked in, and sat and talked with Otto until they called my name. Then I was taken back and settled in the chair and had my blood pressure taken while an assistant laid out a plethora of torture devices on the tray in front of me. I began counting my breaths… in for 1… 2… 3… out for 1… 2… 3… and just when I was about to tell them Hey, know what, I’m all set, I’m just gonna go, thanks, the doctor showed up.
So he painted the side of my tongue with some numbing stuff and picked up the syringe to do the novocaine. “Just a little pinch, here, sorry” he said. It wasn’t too bad. I perked up considerably, because hey, NOT TOO BAD! Yay! Then they left me for a few minutes to let the numbing work.
At that point, I started to relax. I may have drifted off a little while I waited, even. This was going to be a piece of cake.
But then the doctor came back to do “just a little more novocaine.” And those next four shots were pushed through the numb surface of my tongue all the way through to my brain stem, because HOLY HELL, that was pain unlike any other. My nails dug into the arms of the exam chair and my eyes went all wide and the assistant said “I’m sorry, little pinch” and I wanted to LITTLE PINCH HER HEAD.
I think that only took about a minute, which, granted, is like three hours in Dental Torture time, but still.
The good news is that I was, indeed, totally numb. The bad news is that I guess there isn’t any way for that little laser machine they use for the cutting to cauterize the tissue without it smelling really bad. And there I am—all numb, with one person operating on the side of my tongue and another holding my tongue in place while I lie there, helpless and drooling—forced to smell my own burning flesh. FUN!
The removal of the sample for biopsy took less time than the three stitches he put in, afterward. (Also fun: Watching a giant fish hook coming at your tongue, repeatedly!) I was numb from my nose to my neck, but was warned that the pain would be “significant” once the novocaine wore off. Then they tried to give me a prescription for a narcotic that makes me barf. When I declined that, they offered me another one that makes me barf. I asked for a third that I’m pretty sure doesn’t make me sick, but they didn’t want to give me that, so instead they wrote a script for something I’ve never had before.
I took the pain pill last night and within an hour I wasn’t just in pain, I was also sick. (I would make a terrible addict. Too many drugs make me sick.) So I lay down for a while and went to bed early, and this morning I took a handful of Advil, instead. It then took me close to an hour to manage to drink about four ounces.
Do you know when your tongue moves? ALL THE DAMN TIME. Like, I guess in theory I understood that you tongue moves whenever you’re swallowing something, but I was ASTOUNDED at how much tongue movement is apparently required to get liquid down the throat. My last meal was lunch yesterday, and my every attempt since then to actually consume anything other than sips of water has been excruciating.
(That’s your cue to say: Poor, poor little bunny, by the way.)
I feel completely ridiculous, having apparently been bested by a tiny white circle on my tongue that’s going to turn out to be nothing more than a boat payment for the oral surgeon. But owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
Oh, well. It’s a decent distraction from the fence, I guess.