Hit the Lights

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?

Sweetpea: You.

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.

Me: Blane!

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.”


24 thoughts on “Hit the Lights

  1. This is giving me flashbacks of when I had my wisdom teeth out in high school. Everyone I knew went to the same oral surgeon and we adored him. I didn’t notice, but my sister (who went to him a few years later) noticed that his entire staff was gorgeous young women. Which doesn’t mean anything in the story I’m telling but that’s one thing I remember her saying, is how he surrounded himself with gorgeous young women.

    He gave some sort of pill first and then they sat you in front of a little closed circuit tv to watch a “how to brush your teeth” video until you were totally spacey. Then they took you into the chair and gave you an IV and I think maybe gas, or maybe that was just for breathing–all I know is I didn’t feel a thing was high as a kite for hours afterward.

    It was a few years later that he lost his license for using a dangerous combination of drugs to knock people out and having THREE people die on him.

    I look back on that as a Near Death Experience, even though I didn’t realize it at the time.

  2. Poor girls!! Hope they feel better fast.

    I had “waking anaesthesia” way back when I had mine out (1973? ’74?) — I remember the doctor talking about a moon landing or something space related. I floated out into my momma’s arms, and she said, “how do you feel?” and I said, “I am SO HIGH…” and then it gets kinda fuzzy.

  3. Aw, I’m sorry! I threw up when I woke up after my surgery, too. Of course, they had knocked me out, so it wasn’t surprising. But, ugh, that was gross.

    I kinda felt like the whole wisdom teeth thingey was a rite of passage into adulthood. Isn’t that weird? I wonder if my mom put that into my head to try to make it seem more bearable…?

  4. Thanks for having my back, michele.

    I don’t remember being put to sleep for mine, but I don’t remember them pulling my wisdoms. I don’t remember getting any pain meds for it afterwards. Knowing me I got a rx for it and just didn’t fill it. Probably went to work that same night, too.

    Max, you’re a wise kid.

    Pooks, that’s horrifying. I absolutely hate being put under or anesthetized for anything. It is generally safe, but when something goes wrong, it usually is a catastrophe.

  5. Yeah, LOL, I knew you were kidding.

    Funny the stuff you find out about your kid when they are under the influence. Turns out Sweetpea is the school tattoo artist and Francesco (ex-boyfriend) is the piercing wiz.

    She has since told me she has no interest in getting her lip pierced (they call those snake bites) because she’d have to take out her nose piercing. Apparently they compete, people don’t wear both.

    Yay for nose piercings. Also, she is picky about having straight teeth. Snake bites can and do make teeth crooked.

    Now I have to go track down how many kids she’s tattooed.

  6. Oh how funny!! Amy Winehouse sounds a lot like my MusicMan. Oh, how the f bombs flow from him in times of anxiety.

    I would so love to play the invalid for a bit – can you come over please? Bring the coloring books too 🙂

  7. I adore coloring. I’ve taken over one of my son’s books that he never uses any more — the kind that has geometric shapes in cool patterns. One day I was coloring in it, and he perked up and said, “What on earth are you doing?!” As if I were a maniac. He’s ten. Coloring has largely lost his appeal. Maybe when he gets his wisdom teeth out….

  8. I bought one poster for myself to color (some celtic knot thing) along with them, but I never got a chance to “work” on it. I have it on the counter here and it keeps begging me to drop everything and just do it.
    My house talks too, and it unfortunately demands I work on it.

  9. Sometimes I do the coloring when the rest of my family is goofing off reading or playing video games or listening to music…. What’s nice about this is I can’t count it as “family time” and assuage my guilt about not spending enough “quality time” together!

  10. Hilarious! Love the little conversation bits. BTW, I noticed you use the word “pot” and “overseas” and netherland” not too far from each other. Wonder if that was Freudian!

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