Closing the wisdom tooth chapter once and for all, I’ve been reflecting on how the dental assistants got a laugh out of me.
Of course it was the young, handsome man that came for me with the wheelchair.
“Have a seat”. He smiled. “We have to take you out this way.”
I was just fresh from anesthesia, as he rolled me and my chipmunk cheeks, chock full of gauze, drool probably still pooling at the corner of my mouth. In my haze, I tried to hold some semblance of composure. I suppose it’s telling to note that despite grogginess and teeth extraction, the biceps steering my convalescent body had not gone unnoticed.
Since I looked like hell, I think I attempted humor on our way out to the parking lot. Mumbling something dumb through numb lips. Something about him avoiding bumps in the concrete in hopes of getting a good tip.
I think he thought we were pretty funny, my driver and I, as he brought us to her dusty pick up. The “Who’s your farmer?” bumper sticker on the back window, just above a truck bed full breadfruit, oranges and scattered garden tools. I scooted the pruners out of the passenger seat and eased myself into the truck.
He’s smiling. “Yeah, you asked us when you were under if we were sure we were pulling the right tooth.”
I know I’m keen to the double-check. But that takes it to a whole new level.
It’s been days since the procedure. The handsome dental assistant’s smile has faded from my memory, it’s true. But I can’t keep from mulling over the fact that even under anesthesia, I was making sure everything was in order.
Part of me can’t decide if this is such a bad thing. It’s a characteristic that can help me to be an effective person.
But another part of me has got to wonder. Is there no time, no chemical compound strong enough, in which I can just completely let go?
I wrote about the laughing gas enlightenment. That silly smile lasted all of 45 seconds, though it was a beautiful 45 seconds.
Maybe I can grasp some small, non-nitrous-induced moments of surrender throughout today.
But do I ever just totally let go? Do any of us? If so, when? How?
My wisdom teeth are no longer in my mouth, but maybe now I’m receiving a transmission of their sage essence. Questions to ponder. Insight to be gained.
2 thoughts on “Have a Seat”
Halleujah, a miracal – thanks
Hallelujah has been the word of the week. Thanks for adding it here. And, yes, I like miracles. Cheers!