Not so wise anymore

I had my wisdom teeth extracted yesterday, which my oral surgeon reminded me many times during my pre-surgery exam was about 15 years overdue.  All four of them were impacted, and the only reason why I finally had the surgery was because I was having pain in my left lower molar when I ate, and for about two months I wasn't able to open my jaw all the way.

I have to admit, I was more nervous for having this surgery than I was about giving birth.  I think it had something to do with being knocked out.  They say they used conscious sedation, but I don't remember anything past the time Dr. La Rosa put in my IV.  The whole procedure was supposed to be 45 minutes long, but instead it took about 2.5 hours.  Apparently I'm a lightweight when it comes to narcotics.  They gave me 50 mcg of fentanyl, some ketamine, and a little versed.  I actually had to be reversed with narcan.  Through my grogginess and queasiness, I was laughing at the fact they had to reverse me.  (For those of you not familiar with these drugs, in most cases that I've been involved with, people get 100-200 mcg of fentanyl and wake up on their own about 10-20 minutes after the last dose.  In my case, I got 50 mcg and woke up 2.5 hours later, and still had to be given the reversal agent.)

Yesterday I was still pretty barfy, and today I've been in more pain.  The nurse at the clinic said tomorrow will be worse.  Hooray.  I've been keeping an ice bag to my face and taking my medications as needed.  I try to stay away from the percocet unless it's really hurting.  I figure I can sell the rest of my stash to Bob.  (Ha ha, just kidding.)

My parents were my post-op team yesterday, with my mom taking care of Bax and my dad as my chaperone out of the oral surgeon's office.  They let me crash out on their couch until Mike got off work to pick us up.  Mike has the rest of the week off to watch Baxter and hand me stuff from the couch.  I'm hoping that after tomorrow, my jaw will feel better and I can walk around more, maybe even get out of the house.  Until then, Nurse Ratchet Mike doesn't even want me picking up Baxter that much for fear of causing too much strain in my jaw, or Bax smacking me in the face (which has already happened).  As it is, Bax sometimes looks at me like I'm a hypocrite for having gauze in my mouth when I always chastise him for eating tissue.