While I'm Coherent

I wanted to write this post while I was sufficiently cognizant to do so.

Tomorrow, I will leave the house with my mother at around eight o’clock in the morning, hang out with her while she works for a few hours, and then be taken to the oral surgeon’s office to have all four of my impacted wisdom teeth removed.

They’re several years late, but now that they’ve at last arrived they must be pulled.

I’ve learned from my parents of a host of undesirable side-effects that I’d not been informed of when I first learned the procedure was needed.

For one thing, I’ll be in awful pain for at least several days afterward.

I was reluctant about taking the Vicotin the doctor had prescribed for me, but my mother cut off by objections with a blunt, “Trust me—you’ll need it.”

One of the worst stipulations of the wisdom-tooth procedure is the fact that I won’t be able to eat any solid food at all for close to a week. My mother went out this weekend and purchased four cans of chicken broth, which, when I am well enough to get some noodles down, will be used in some of her famous chicken noodle soup.

Perhaps the best part of the ordeal was being able to disregard my diet for the entire week leading up to the surgery. Because I know I’ll be eating very little over the next seven days or so, I decided to indulge in whatever I wished in the time before the appointment.

Afterward, until Christmas, I’ll need to take a slew of pills daily, including an antibiotic, a painkiller, and a steroid. The last of these is meant to prevent swelling, which I was told tonight would inflate my face so that I’d have “chipmunk cheeks.”

Photos will be forthcoming.

I’m very nervous about this.

I just hope that I won’t be in agony immediately after waking up from the anesthesia.

Tonight, the eve of my surgery, was a calm and happy one here at home.



Because of freezing rain that dumped ice on the family cars and coated the streets with a slick layer of sleet, my father forbade either Powell or me to drive anywhere, with the result that the evening was spent at home, in merry if not quiet domestic pursuits.



Powell, my father, and Thomas pursued college information for my nineteen-year-old brother, following which the two boys investigated the complexities and wonders of Powell’s new i-Phone.





The infatuation with this gadget has yet to even begin waning, and I doubt enthusiasm will fade for some time.



After a concerted effort to distract him from far more important school matters, my youngest siblings and I were able to enlist Powell in a game of volleyball played in Pie’s playroom. Before long, all four of us were diving around, whacking each other in the head, and laughing crazily as Powell and I had in our younger years.



After the invigorating game, which ended with all of our jackets on the floor, Powell, Thomas, Pie, and I posed for a rare group portrait.

When it was all over, Pie enjoyed a helping of milk and cookies (which, true to form, she did not finish) as the sleet and ice pounded outside.



It was the nicest, happiest night I’ve had in a long time.

Hopefully tomorrow will be just as tranquil. I plan to do a lot of reading when I get home.