i would just like to tell everyone, because i am so goddamn proud of and amazed by myself, that i actually went to the dentist on thursday morning and had my broken tooth (broken metal filling, more accurately) polished down while i was stone-cold sober. nary a drop of laughing gas, and still i managed to swallow the urge to grab the hygenist's hands and yank them out of my mouth in a panic (something i did to my childhood dentist once, not a word of a lie). okay, so it only lasted sixty seconds, and was only a little uncomfortable (altho' i wasn't supposed to feel anything at all, allegedly - i guess that odd building feeling that my tooth is about to pop is "nothing"). that is far more dental work than i have experienced in a conscious state in twenty years.
dr d came in to glance at the offending piece of crap that passes for a molar when she was done, as he was busy hacking into the mouth of some other poor bastard in one of his surgery rooms, of which he has four because he specializes in chickens and freaks like myself. he asked about gymn, as he always does, which is oddly comforting, knowing that he remembers something about me besides my god awful teeth. as he was on his way out, okaying the horrific details of my treatment plan with the hygenist, he made sure to stop and turn to me and say, "you want an iv, right?" yes, he knows me well. fifteen years well, at one point of which i was literally going once every three months for fillings. back then, he only had one O.R. because he was in his old office, and only did surgery on fridays. my mom would take me in at eight a.m., bring me home stoned out of my mind and put me to bed, and at about four o'clock she would come and wake me up and tell me my best friend was on the phone and wanted to know if i wanted her to come over, something she normally never did because i lived way out of town while she lived right behind the school. so she would come over and talk to me while i was awake, and watch tv while i was passed out. this was a regular occurance back in the seventh grade or so. i never remembered any of what we did on those nights. i would always wake up on saturday morning vaguely surprised to see her sleeping on my spare mattress - and then i would jam my tongue into a new big fat awkward filling and accidentally squish the bruise on my arm from the iv, and remember.
i won't actually be having intravenous for this. i will be doped up on laughing gas, as it's too fucking expensive and, truthfully, no longer necessary to put me out completely. laughing gas is good stuff. given enough - as i most certainly am - you can sleep through anything. i'm hoping this will allow me to get myself home at some point later on that day, unless i can somehow bribe, co-erce, or guilt trip carolyn into driving me there. i have until october to figure it out, so who knows?