Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Have a Seat

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.

courtesty of srqpix
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Laughing Gas Enlightenment

Not having perfected the one-handed typing technique, this post will be short as I am still needing to hold the ice bag to my post-operative cheek.

Yes, I ventured into the mists. And though I didn’t walk there like the ancient Chinese poets, I was still gifted with a nitrous oxide-induced moment of divinity.

Here at home, as I rest and heal, I recall how I lay beneath the mask in the dentist chair. The misty cool entering my nostrils in a whirring, soft hiss. How soon, some goofy smile spread across my face, despite myself. And then the elation. All points culminating to that time and place. A reverberating space where there existed one simple truth: nothing is all that serious.

What was real was a pervasive sense of happiness. And in that moment, all was right with the world.

And then everything faded as the anesthesia took over and my wisdom teeth were extracted from my jaw.

Jessica Dofflemyer

Surfacing from the haze, I linger with that silly smile that bloomed upon my face. I want to remember that and conjure it for the rest of my days. Tap that source that doesn’t need a tank of nitrous oxide.

Right now it hurts a bit to grin that big. Right now, it’s just me and my starry ice pack. Arnica and carrot juice. Salt water swishes. But I’m still basking in the gift the mists of nitrous oxide gave me.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 1 Comment

Respiration, Jumping Jacks and the Thread

At 5:55am, I have no idea what today brings.

I tried that trick a friend told me about. Jumping up and down within the first 15 minutes of waking. Repeating the mantra “Abundance is here now!” Or inserting whatever you wish to be here now: “Love is here now!” “Health is here now!” “Happiness is here now!”

He says it’s a fun way to set the tone for the day. But I live on the second story so I was sort of making quiet, 5:15-in-the-morning hops. I was too lazy to go outside in the dark on the wet grass. So my jumping jack intention may have had only half-power. But you, see, I’m trying.

Following these threads. Listening for guidance.

Tomorrow my wisdom teeth are extracted. Yesterday, Jeb got a prescription for antibiotics for some funk in his chest. Today’s events are yet unknown.

If I begin to think about the work I have to do, the preparations needed for the upcoming days and the obligations I have to fulfill, I think those jumping jacks would turn into the fetal position. Alas, a mother has no option to assume this position.

In fact, in this “now”, a mother may have no more time to post a rambling Archive post about following a thread, as her sick child emerges from bed with a sweaty head and whispered voice.

I’ve leaned on the words of William Stafford before. Quoted him right here in the Archives. I like to think of his reference to the thread as a description of the artistic process. But it’s not only that. It’s about so much more. So much more, that it then becomes elementary.

courtesy of noii

Perhaps that thread is simply the essence of life. An essence most readily touched breath by breath. That respiration our heartbeats track, weaving moments to days, days to a living.

In a day, chaotic, like today. Uncertain. I hold the thread of the present moment, following it and trusting that all will unfold in some way that will be ok.

“Now is here now!” And I guess later will be here later.

One step at a time, I follow this thread. Watch for magic in unexpected places. Hopefully laugh a little (or a lot).

Trust.

The Way It Is

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change.  But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

~ William Stafford ~