So. On Tuesday, I finally had my long-feared and panic-inducing Horrible Oral Surgery, and of course once I was in the chair, it was completely routine and harmless and Not At All Horrible.

What everyone told me is completely true and almost magical: once you go into twilight sleep, time just cuts out. One minute my surgeon was thanking me for directing him to the easy-to-find vein in my right arm (“That is one great big pipe!” he said more than once), then there’s a hazy half-memory of me hollering a Liz Lemon quote* at him in great good spirits, then I laughed and laughed and laughBAMsitting in a curtained space with The Fella, clamping something cool to my cheek and nodding earnestly at a nurse in mid-conversation.

I had several points I urgently wanted to communicate, and she was very polite and responsive, so much so that it took a whole day for me to figure out that she was certainly not instructing me but The Fella, who was not visibly loopy and forgetful.

Indeed, my obliviousness to my own mental state is the most disconcerting aspect of the procedure and recovery. I keep announcing “All better!” and The Fella keeps nodding and saying “That’s nice!” but it’s taken me several days to figure out that I’m still pretty zonked out, cycling up and down as the medication hits and recedes.

This afternoon, The Fella brought me a dish of applesauce. (I’ve spent most of the past few days in a nest of pillows and blankets on our futon, and he’s brought me an endless stream of soft foods, drinks, drugs, and movies. He’s a prince.) Quite a while after I finished it, he gently said, “Here, I’ll take that,” and I was surprised to find that I for some time, I’d had the empty spoon just barely tucked into my mouth. Just because.

* I can’t be completely sure that I was yelling hilariously in the surgery room, but The Fella confirms that I was quoting Liz Lemon in the recovery room. Though I was amused no end, I wonder how much the surgical and aftercare teams loved to have me splayed out and hollering “You’re too late! I already killed her!”

3 thoughts on “twilight

  1. Thanks to The Fella and my mother, and to my own pre-surgical shopping trips, I have been treated to a delicious array of soft foods: mashed potatoes, yogurt (plain or strawberry), refried beans with melty cheese and overripe avocados, chocolate pudding, frozen yogurt, popsicles, creamed spinach, vegetarian lasagna, chicken pot pies, homemade pea soup, homemade chicken & rice soup, and so on.

    The Indian dinner of saag paneer and vegetable kofta we ate Tuesday night was hands down the most delicious thing I have EVER eaten. I assume this was in part thanks to the killer opiates the doc prescribed.

    But even with this impressive menu, I’m beginning to have intensely vivid culinary fantasies about crunchy, sharp, or otherwise dangerous foods. And I mean fantasies: now that I’m sleeping a bit, I keep waking from bright, graphic dreams of eating piles of potato chips Doritos, popcorn, carrot sticks, extra-fizzy Coke, and heaping bowls of Cap’n Crunch.

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