It has come time to reflect on what wondrous things our teeth are, and how essential they are to our every day chewings. Especially one's back molars. They are steadfastly there, every single hour of the day, either to masticate the hard planes of a chocolate-encrusted waffle piece, or just to sit there, offering little else but reassurance in their very existence. These ruminations come because I mourn the loss of my four companions, my friends, my countrymen! Alas, my four wisdom teeth are gone, leaving gaping holes in their wake. I had to go under the knife on Friday at 1130 hours. There was scarcely any time for me to hyperventilate in the waiting room, because they called me in promptly and I sat in the dentist's chair, quivering like a mouse ensared in a trap, the lump of cheese all but forgotten. What ho, take courage!

Let me relate the experience:

Dr. Bluth comes in, a kindly looking man, really. He got me distracted by talking about his service as a mission president in Mexico City, returning to the same mission he had served in as a young missionary years ago. The assistant came in and had taken away my glasses, my one last attachment to the world of the living. Now I was as blind as a bat. (Okay, not really)

The assistant then proceeded to drape a plastic sheet over my body, kind of like what they do to bodies in the morgue...and Dr. Bluth poked my hand with an I.V. I sat there, still like a lump of rock. A human-shaped rock. And he said, "The medicine is going to sting a little as it enters." There wasn't very much of a stinging sensation...more of a tingle. I lay back in the chair as he lowered it, and then I said, "My hair is covering my eyes. Do you think you can move my hair to the side?" He said, "Sure!" and swept them away, and then showed me that I could actually move my own hands. (I thought there wasn't any convenient way to move them, kind of like at the hairdresser's when they drape the sheet over your shoulders.)

That's the last thing I remember. The next thing is someone is shaking me a little, and I sort of wake up. The door is open and Rendy is laughing hysterically, lamenting the fact that there is no camera available. Even if he did get one I'd have thrown it in the rubbish bin anyway. The assistant gets me into a wheelchair and wheels me out to the car. The guy that went in around the same time I did is walking fast ahead of me, shrugging off his mother's offered arm. I was helped into the car, then Rendy drives to the SHC to get my medicine, then drives me home and Cam and Brooke helped me out of the car and into the room. Rendy gave Deb instructions on the medicine and then went about his way.

The remainder of the day was hazy...I slept most of it. Before I slept, I had to drink water and grape-flavoured gatorade, which was quite pleasant. That was so I'd have "something" in my stomach so I could take the painkillers and antibiotics. When I woke up later, I walked to the bathroom but then I had to walk back to my bed because I felt so nauseous I thought I was going to pass out. After trying to eat some porridge, I took the medicine, then about 5 minutes later I threw it all up. Gross. I hate throwing up...it's the most disgusting thing ever. But after, I felt much, much better. I kept everything else down.

The next day I continued the porridge regiment, but also added applesauce (not a huge fan) and mashed potatoes to the diet. Then Christi and Sister Bywater came and brought me JELLO, more applesauce, and milo!!!!!!!! And a stuffed toy. They visited me for a little bit, then left me to rest. I ate my jello with gusto...that stuff is surprisingly good for someone who has no teeth. I have also had to ice my cheeks with random frozen vegetable packets and moose bar packets...no ice packs in the house.

And so here I am...still having to subsist on caramel ice cream (Haagen Daz, no less) and picking out the crunchy chocolate-topped waffle bits. The day when I can chew Tucanos meat will be a glorious one for sure. But, it's not a bad life.