The thing is that when I was 18, I had xrays done and those xrays indicated that I had, and I quote, "plenty of room for those things to come on out on their own!" So I let them. If a dentist ever tells you that, duct tape them to their examination chair and run for it. It's a trap. They're in it with the pain killer companies building landing strips for gay martians, I swear to god*.
My gums had plentyof room for those teeth. My jaw had other ideas. My bologna has a first name, it's oh-my-god-that-hurts. I had the two on the right side removed one by one, both fully erupted, both when it became an emergency, both with nothing but local anesthetics, which isn't fun for you or your dentist or your kids in the waiting room who you have drive home and take care of after they've drilled and jack-hammered and raped and pillaged and left you with nothing more than a dry socket and a bottle of motrin.
You'll thank me later aside: Clove Oil. Best thing in the galaxy for tooth pain. Babies, idiots who let their wisdom teeth come out on their own, anyone. You can buy it anywhere like this.
None of this has anything to do with this post. Maybe I should start over.
A little more than a week ago, I had a few teeth ripped out of my face. A little more than three decades ago, I was born with two holes in my heart. What these two things have in common with each other is amoxicillin.
Because I have these errant holes laying around in my heart, I have to eat a bazillion grams of amox before a dentist can even breath on me to prevent endocarditis, which is a fancy word for Death By Dentist. The American Heart Association has recently said that some of us don't need to "premed" anymore because the big, scary, evil antibiotics are going to kill us. I had a lively chat with my dentist about this very subject and when he said that I was going to build up a resistance to antibiotics I said I hadn't yet built up a resistance to death and until he had two holes in his heart, he could refrain from judging my choices.
I got the prescription. I took it.
This is where I get to my point.
I picked up the prescription and the pharmacist says, "You know that's going to interfere with your birth control, right?" And I said, "Thank you, but I'm really a man." Then I read the little pamphlet that comes with it about the 18 thousand ways it's probably going to kill me and of course, in big yellow highlighted letters, it cautioned, "Antibiotics might decrease the effectiveness of birth control pills." And I told that pamphlet, "Thanks for the heads up, but I'm celibate." And then I got to the dentist and the receptionist asked, "Did you premed" and I said that I had and she asks, "You know that will interfere with your birth control?" and I said, "Are you hitting on me?"
I have never had anyone inquire so much about my birth control. Which actually explains a lot about where I am in life right now.
Anyway, I was called back to the Chair Of Doom and the dentist looked over my xrays, stuck the iv thingy in my arm, took a call from his wife in which I could hear her screaming at him and see him blushing from embarrassment, and as he injected whatever that totally awesome stuff that knocks you out is into my iv line, he shoved my chart in my face and pointed at the word, "PREMED." I nodded. I think I may have said, "snarfblastaschmurna" which of course means, "Dude, I so totally took it" and as the world began to grow dark and cozy, he pointed and the line below and with a quizzical look on his face, he violently shook that chart in front of my completely stoned eyes.
"MAY INTERFERE WITH BIRTH CONTROL" *stage black*
Here's the thing. I don't take birth control, and you'd have to do a hell of a lot more than hand me a bottle or come at my head with sharp instruments to get me to tell you what I do use. (Like by me shots.) This, however, is not really my issue.
Either this is a really, really cruel joke, or these people are idiots. Have they never pulled a wisdom tooth wrapped around a nerve before? Are they unaware that the one and only thing I will most certainly not be doing for several days, if not a week, will be it? I was sexier 5 minutes post-partum than I was until about a day ago.
They may as well have sent me home with a paper bag for my head, a ruffie, bottle of KY and a note for the Donor that read, "Enjoy the silence, yo!" because, really. The smell? Dear god. The pain? Sweet Baby Jesus. The swelling?
Yeah. But thanks for the warning.
*Please, someone get that.