Wisdom

A small story:

I think of myself as the Asterisk. As in, you read the whole great, sweeping book about humanity and you finally understand that all humans are far more alike than they are different and you get to the last page and there, next to the final word, "*".

* Virtually none of this applies to Quinn.

Whenever I have a procedure, no matter how safe, no matter how unremarkable, I ask what are the weirdest complications.

"Nothing will go wrong. I've done this a thousand times. No need to worry," the doctor always assures me.

I ask again, calm and resolute.

WHAT IS THE LEAST-LIKELY COMPLICATION.

The doctor frowns. "Well," she finally allows, "I did hear once of someone who suddenly developed half-finished lasagnas for feet."

Thank you. Now I can prepare a Béchamel sauce. Because if it's weird, it's inevitable.

When I had my wisdom teeth removed, I carefully arranged to have it done on December 23rd so as to recover while I was off work anyway. Three molars were impacted, the periodontist told me. I would want cold things to eat. I soberly prepared by buying a carts' worth of popsicles.

The surgery was brief and without incident.

Small story within story:

I hate anesthetic. Specifically, I hate the thought that I'm even more stupid than usual, so it's hugely important to me that I snap to wakefulness instantaneously, running a Junior League subcommittee.

I awoke after surgery. The nurse smiled at me.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling fine, thank you for asking. Gosh, you're working late into the Christmas season. Do you have plans for the holidays?"

"We're leaving to ski, late tonight."

"Oh, isn't that nice!"

Of course, my mouth was completely packed with cotton and I was too impaired to operate a paper cup but bless her, she understood and pretended I wasn't animated rice pudding.

Anyway, back to the main story. After about two days of popsicle-infused recuperation, I was not getting better. Not only did I have Maria Shriver's jaw, but only on one side, I had a headache, all the time. Also, I kept being randomly warm. This struck me at possibly interesting. I called the periodontist.

His service asked if this was an emergency. I looked in the mirror and noted I was slightly more griege than usual.

"Let's say it is."

He was heading to Hawaii for a week that night, but could see me at this office on the way to the airport.

His kids ran around the office as he looked in my mouth. He poked something and I screamed. His wife looked up from her magazine in mild interest.

"Yeah," he said, probing around, "You have dry-socket. You must have used a straw."

For those of you living in a fool's paradise without dry-socket, allow me to explain. When they remove a wisdom tooth, blood and tissue race to fill in the hole which was left, protecting the nerve and the direct access to your circulatory system.

If you lose that plug, you can get an infection. Sucking on a straw can pull it out. My instructions have told me repeatedly not to use a straw. I like instructions. They make me feel safe. I had most assuredly not sucked on a straw.

I said this in high dudgeon, which was somewhat diluted by speaking around a grown man's hands in my mouth.

"Well, something happened," he said, "Because you have it in three of the holes."

He thought.

"By any chance, did you eat pineapple?"

As a matter of fact, I had eaten a great many pineapple-flavored popsicles. They were almost made of fruit. I considered them dinner and the Otter Pops dessert. I nodded around his hands.

"That's it, then," he said, in the tone of someone noticing gravity was still in effect. "Everyone knows you don't eat pineapple after you get your wisdom teeth out."

NO, DOCTOR, IN FACT, EVERYONE DOES NOT KNOW THAT. THIS IS NOT RECEIVED WISDOM. THERE IS NO COMMANDMENT TO THIS EFFECT.

I found my crumpled and beloved post-op instruction sheet in my purse and pushed it into his sternum.

He scanned it.

"That's funny, we don't mention it," he mused, then chuckled. "We probably should add that”.

MAYBE SOMETHING TO CONSIDER WHILE ON THE BEACH, YES.

Finally, he removed all seven hands from my mouth and asked the nurse for something which sounded like "Packing."

"I'm going to give you antibiotics," he said. "But I'm also going to put something in the holes, to keep you from getting another infection. An infection in your mouth, it could go directly to your brain. Or heart!"

He shouldn't have sounded so cheery about this prospect.

The nurse brought something on a tray which could have been described as “Overcooked ramen, if ramen was suddenly grey." He picked one of these worms up with a tweezers and held it up. Oh good, it was about two feet long.

"This," he said brightly, "Is the packing. One for each hole. Here, let me show you how to pack it." The nurse swung in with a mirror and we all examined him cramming a recalcitrant noodle into a goo-filled tooth-hole. Having accomplished this somewhat, he tweezered another one.

"Now, you do it."

I looked around to see to whom he was speaking.

Wait...me?

"You're going to have to do this twice a day for at least a week. I'm on the way to the airport," he glanced at his watch, "Oops, now. So, quick, show me you can do it!"

That's what this needed: a ticking clock. I sort of prodded in the approximate area where the tooth had been removed. I knew I was in the right region when he would nod and I would scream in pain.

Unrelated but perhaps not surprising is that they tasted absolutely vile.

The periodontist decreed it was "Close enough," and leapt towards the door, eyes trained firmly on sandy shores paid for by numberless insured impacted wisdom teeth. He waved goodbye in my direction and then stopped.

He drew in a breath and let out a hearty guffaw. Breathed in, tried to stop himself from laughing, but it was no use. Whatever he was thinking was simply too rich to keep inside. The laughing continued.

"I'm," he wheezed, "Going to a place where I'll eat pineapple and you..." He stopped for a second to bask in the deliciousness, "You're here because...you did!"

He gasped, wiped a few tears-of-laughter from his eyes, sighed. We stared at one another.

"Anyway, Happy New Year. And aloha!"