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I'm alive. All in all, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Aside from the bit where the guy kind of nicked a nerve and I couldn't feel anything from the tip of my chin to almost the back of my tongue all day. I can feel and kind of taste again, though, which is a good thing. And so far the drugs (namely the steroids for the swelling) haven't caused any mood swings. I'm kind of in pain, so I'm torn between dealing with it (which I usually do, except I should sleep tonight) and just taking the Vicodin. I feel like, in a way, it'd give me a carte blanche to be cynical and bitter and such, but I just don't think I can pull off the medically brilliant at this point. (In fact, I'm not sure I can pull off any kind of brilliant at this point; I'm kind of sore and lightheaded still.) However, I am conscious enough to realize that it's freaking weird (and probably bad) that all I've thought about in relation to the Vicodin since I got the prescription was House. Actually, if I was really thinking, either would give me a reason to be cynical and bitter. In pain. Or on Vicodin. Both have cynical, bitter people attached to them. But most of the ones on Vicodin aren't in pain. And probably get to sleep at night.
They expect me to brush my teeth tonight. I don't think that's possible. So far I've managed not to bleed much, but I know if I try to brush my teeth, I'll end up bleeding. I'm not up for more bleeding today, especially after discovering just how much I can border on hysterical around heart monitors and IVs (shivering and looking at it constantly while trying to suppress inexplicable laughter, I think, probably counts as a form of hysteria). Oh, and I hate oxygen by itself. It's cold, it tickles, it smells funny, and it makes you lightheaded. Normal atmosphere all the way for me, from now on. When I can help it.
Oh, and thankfully anything incoherent I said was muffled by gauze, because by the time the nurse was in to tell us about the prescriptions, I was actually myself enough to understand and remember it. Though I don't really remember asking the dentist for my teeth. Which apparently I did, because I do remember him telling me they were in a biohazard container now, and that I couldn't have them. Alas. Sir Longroot Tooth would've been a good souvenir.
They expect me to brush my teeth tonight. I don't think that's possible. So far I've managed not to bleed much, but I know if I try to brush my teeth, I'll end up bleeding. I'm not up for more bleeding today, especially after discovering just how much I can border on hysterical around heart monitors and IVs (shivering and looking at it constantly while trying to suppress inexplicable laughter, I think, probably counts as a form of hysteria). Oh, and I hate oxygen by itself. It's cold, it tickles, it smells funny, and it makes you lightheaded. Normal atmosphere all the way for me, from now on. When I can help it.
Oh, and thankfully anything incoherent I said was muffled by gauze, because by the time the nurse was in to tell us about the prescriptions, I was actually myself enough to understand and remember it. Though I don't really remember asking the dentist for my teeth. Which apparently I did, because I do remember him telling me they were in a biohazard container now, and that I couldn't have them. Alas. Sir Longroot Tooth would've been a good souvenir.
