Going Under...

It was Friday morning, March 6, 2009. Scotty drove me to Dr. Huizinga's to get my wisdom teeth removed. I was nervous. We entered the peaceful lobby of the oral surgeon's office and checked-in. The receptionist asked me if I had anything to eat or drink in the past 6 hours and I said no. I asked her what would be the problem if someone were to eat or drink something within that 6 hour time frame leading up to the operation - nausea? Her response was as follows, "It may cause someone to aspirate, and then it would go in their lungs and lead to potential death." I mumbled something like, "Oh my, thanks for the explanation", and then sat down next to Scotty to wait until they called my name.

I picked up where I had left off in "The Survivor's Club" by Ben Sherwood - a book that we had just gotten on Amazon earlier that week. I started reading about a woman who had a knitting needle pierce her chest when she tripped on some stairs. I glanced up at Scotty, who was already busy with some work on his lap-top, and said, "I don't know if I should be reading this right before I have surgery..."

My name was called shortly thereafter, and as I left my book and coat with Scotty I also leaned over to give him one more kiss before my mouth underwent oral surgery. Not sure when I'll be able to comfortably kiss him again, so this is my last chance, I thought to myself.

The assistant led me to a dental chair, clipped a drool bib on me, placed something on my finger (to monitor my heart rate?), and then turned the TV on in front of my while she left to get Dr. Huizinga. The scene before me was a gentle, flowing brook, then melting ice, then penguins in the snow. I knew what this staff was trying to do - calm down their patients! It wasn't entirely working for me, because I couldn't get over the fact that the snow in which the penguins were playing was kinda nasty looking from bird waste, and the penguins themselves were a little dirty with who knows what...raw nature isn't spic and span.

Dr. Huizinga arrived, along with his assistant, cheery and enthusiastic. As he inserted an IV into my arm, his assistant placed a tube over my nose and told me to breath in the laughing gas. That ripply, goldenrod tube around my face made me feel as though I looked like a character from Star Trek. He asked me what I did for a hobby and I told him I took care of my 18 month old son, as I thought to myself, This laughing gas isn't having any effect on me, I'm still wide awake. I asked him if he had any kids, and he said "Yes, two." We chit-chatted about their names, and that's all I remember...