It’s been a rough two days as the girls have had their wisdom teeth removed on Monday. Both are doing well now.
They don’t pull them under general anesthesia, but use what is called waking anesthesia. Intravenous Demerol (opiate based pain medicine) and Versed (tranquilizer) along with a local anesthetic such as Novocaine. They’re awake during the entire proceedure, eliminating the need for intubation and a breathing machine.
Sweetpea had hers removed first since she had four of them. It took less than thirty minutes for her. Spanky went next and it took less than ten minutes since hers were just two uppers.
By the time they let me go back there to help wake them up, Sweetpea was bouncing off the walls. I promised not to tell anyone whether or not she had been crying for me. She also got the new nickname of Amy Winehouse:
Sweetpea: Mom. My entire face is numb. After we leave here, you have to take me to get my lip pierced.
Me: You’re not getting your lip pierced.
Sweetpea: What? This is the best time, I can’t feel anything. Let’s go.
Me: Sit down. You’re not getting your lip pierced.
Sweetpea: (rapid fire speech) I have a friend who has all the stuff. I’m going to call him to come over tonight and do it. If you let me get my lip pierced, I ~swear~ when I get my tattoos they won’t show.
Me: Tattoos?! No. Hush all that nonsense.
Sweetpea: F*%k that. I’ve been wanting my lip pierced since I’m 12 years old. Gotdamn. This f*%king sucks.
Me: Sweetpea, you’re embarrassing me, the nurses can hear you. Where did you learn how to talk like that?
Blane’s there too and he’s about to lose his mind hearing all this. I go see about Spanky, coming out just now.
They drag Spanky down the hallway toward her little recovery room. Her feet aren’t touching the ground and her eyes slowly crawl the the outer limits of the sockets. She looks like she’s been lobotomized and I have a hard time holding back an explosion of tears. But I do. It’s hard, my breathing skips as if I’d been crying.
I guess Sweetpea must have been like that at first too, but they didn’t let me see her until a lot of what she had wore off. Sweetpea, (aka Amy Winehouse) is able to walk now. She bursts into Spanky’s room:
Sweetpea: Mah, Dad says he’s moving us to Europe for two years and I won’t have a cell phone or a computer.
Poor Spanky keeps crying and doesn’t want to wake up:
Me: Spanky, wake up so we can go home.
It takes her a full minute to complete just one sentence.
Spanky: I. Want. My. Thinking… Back.
Me: Wake up and you’ll be able to think.
Spanky: I don’t like this.
Winehouse, sprawled out in the chair has advice.
Sweetpea: (Slurred) You better never smoke pot, Spanky.
Me: (to Sweetpea) Okay, Amy Winehouse.
Sweetpea: Why you call me that?
Spanky: I. Can’t. Think. (crying like a little girl)
It seemed as if she was falling even deeper into netherland as the time went by. I think she might have been a little shocky. The doctor passed by, and when he saw how pale she was, he lowered her head and looked panicked. I told him she is normally really pale, but suggested a little blood pressure check (duh).
Then came vomitus eruptus. I had the trash can to catch it as soon as she sprung up.
Spanky: How’d you know I was gonna hurl?
Me: Mammas know everything.
Sweetpea: They do?
Me: Hell yeah.
Sweetpea: (whisper) Got-damn.
Whatever was in Spank’s stomach must have been what was making her so lethargic. She was wide awake after that and we got to go home. That quick.
The next two days was pretty much me slaving over the two girls. Administering a million pills, filling ice paks, gettting them this and that… They wouldn’t sleep and just in case, I’d bought them some Magic Marker posters to color.
They kept saying “I forgot how fun it was to color…”
Sweetpea worked on her sketch of Cobain.
Spanky worked on her plushies for an anime festival she’s going to at the end of this month.
After about the second day, Spanky admitted, “I love playing the invalid.”