I woke up my son early this morning, fed him a light breakfast of toast and a boiled egg, then I drugged him with two sleeping pills, waited until he was almost out, forced him to negotiate a flight of stairs, stuck him in my car and dropped him off in a dentist’s chair to have his wisdom teeth ripped out.  Ah, the joys of parenting.

Poor Paul has to go through the ordeal of having his wisdom teeth pulled twice.  The first time he began to have severe pain on the right side of his face and ended up having an emergency extraction.  They didn’t put him under; they just numbed the snot out of him and dug ‘em out.  Ouch.  My poor baby was so miserable for weeks after.  And the swelling was shocking.  I had never seen anyone swell up that bad.

I had my wisdom teeth removed when I was 18.  I’ll never forget the sit down with the oral surgeon in which he explained all the numerous things that could possibility go wrong, and then asked me to sign a consent form.  ‘What?  Do I look like an idiot?’  Apparently so, because I signed the form and they knocked me out.  Back then they did it the good old fashioned way and really put you under.  Trouble is, every time I’ve ever been put out, they always have a hard time getting me to come to again.  I think they over dose me.  I was out for almost two days.  But, I had prepared and drank a ton of pineapple juice, so I didn’t have much swelling.  I did, however, have an allergic reaction to the penicillin which made me violently ill.  Oh, and I couldn’t drink out of a straw for a good six months or it would come shooting out of my nose.  Yeah, good times.

Anyway, Paul knew when he had the first two wisdom teeth removed he would have to go back and get the other two out this summer.  That and our trip to Tahoe has been all he has had to look forward to.  He has not been too excited about this visit to the dentist, as you can imagine, so that’s why I suggested that this time he be put under during the ordeal.  He agreed. I had no idea they no longer did it the same way.  Generally speaking I was told to give him two Halcion and call them in the morning.  It was weird seeing my kid all high and loopy.

Of course, this is nothing compared to when he had his cornea transplant back in 2005.  Paul was terrified of the surgery, but he was brave and didn’t let on until they stuck that thing in his arm so they could put in all the IV’s and stuff.  He lost it, turned white, got all clammy and sweaty, and started begging me to take him home.  It was all I could do to keep from bawling.  The anesthesiologist came around the curtain, took one look at Paul and said, “Oh dear, we’d better put him out now.”  Within a few a minutes his head was rolling forward and I was standing in the corner crying.  God.  I hope we never have to do that again.

So, now I sit and wait for the dentist to call me and tell me they are done removing pieces of my teenaged son so I can come get him and try to repair the damage they have done.  It’s a good thing they don’t warn you about these days BEFORE you have kids.

 

Because I've been slacking lately I figured I'd dig something out from my archives to post here.  I do have a few other posts on my blog if you're interested.




Growing up in middle class, small town suburbia has its advantages. I had supportive family & friends; I received a good education and I was taught to work hard to succeed. It was this hard work ethic which led me to accept a job working the late shift as a cashier at a Texaco StarMart on Olive Drive, just off Highway 99. I was in college at the time, I needed the cash, and I could study in-between customers. Nevertheless, it was not long before my desire to succeed was over shadowed by the realization that I had a false sense of security.

Working alone six to midnight every Friday and Saturday, I had pretty much gotten used to the weirdos and miscellaneous freaks who would wander in to purchase cigarettes, buy beer or stop for a tank of gas. I even became used to the frequent complaints about having to “pay first” for gas (as if I had just made up the concept to irritate them). Still, nothing could have prepared me for the frightening, and in many ways, life altering experience that happened one night.

A semi-regular customer (whom I had previously mentally nick named “Captain Ahab”) pulled up in his green and primer gray jalopy. He was a barrel of a man, thick and stout, with dirty fingernails and a sunburned face. He wore the same oil stained overalls I had seen him in before, and a greasy ball cap pulled down low over his frizzy, red hair. His full beard and moustache reminded me of a cross between a lumberjack and a sea captain. I could barely make out his steely blue eyes. His voice was deep and rough, hiding a slight southern drawl. He never smiled…ever.

“Number one,” he mumbled as he shoved a twenty-dollar bill at me across the counter. “Okay” I said cheerily, “Twenty on one.” Then I watched as he plodded outside and began to pump the fuel. The left, rear fender of his car was held on with duct tape and the headliner inside the car sagged in shreds. As I turned back to my homework, I couldn’t help but wonder what his life must be like.

Shortly after I turned back to my studies, a loud, beeping alarm sound caused me to look up again. ‘Ahab’ was outside, glaring at me through the window, frantically gesturing at me to turn the pump on again. I held up my hands to indicate my helplessness and waved for him to come back inside.

Furious, he stormed back inside. Mumbling and angry, he spouted derogatory and racist remarks as he slapped another twenty on the counter. Stunned as I was by his outburst, I tried to explain I could not turn the pump on without entering a dollar amount. “Ahab’s" retort was several profanities accompanied by a steely look. When he returned to his car, I felt my own temper grow as he continued to glower at me through the window. Then suddenly, I had a moment of clarity: I’m alone. Working the night shift at a gas station. In Oildale. This dude probably has a gun tucked away under the seat of his excuse for a car.

When he returned for his change, I tried to maintain my composure. He had only managed to squeeze in another twenty-two cents worth of gas. I kept my head down and eyes averted while he continued his tirade and I attempted to count back his change. My face was red hot and I heard a faint buzzing sound in my ears. And then, after a particularly inflammatory remark that he made - I lost it. Just as he turned to the leave, still spewing profanity and racist remarks, I let him know that he didn’t have to pay first at the Chevron across the street, and he should probably go there from now on.

What happened next is, without a doubt, one of the most terrifying things I have ever experienced (next to the monkey attack, of course). Ahab blew up into a fury of volcanic rage. Beet red and screaming at the top of his lungs, he erupted into a stream of profanity and nonsensical remarks, some of which included calling me a “n***r luvin’ whore.” Watching him explode and worried for my own safety, I tried not to show the fear which had suddenly gripped me. I lashed back out at him, hoping he would think I was as crazy as he was. I screamed at back him to get out and never come back.

What happened after that it is a blur. He headed for the door and for what I thought was the gun I imagined being in his car. The stream of obscenities continued and the more he bellowed at me, the more I yelled back at him. I have no doubt he wanted to throttle my neck. His stare was menacing and he had a wild look in his eyes.

Just then a small, elderly Asian man opened the door and stepped in. Quickly realizing what was going on, he made a small step backward in retreat. Seeing this as my opportunity, I informed “Ahab” that he should leave and never return or I would call the police. Abruptly, just as quickly as the storm began, it abated.

It took me a long time to shake the feeling I got from that night. At first I was sick and wobbly from the actual event. But more significantly, it was the feeling that I had afterward. That is the lesson that has stayed with me.

My sense of security was lost. I had come face to face with pure hatred. Beneath his sharp, blue eyes, I saw evil. And the realization that there are countless others out there, just like him.

Today is my niece's birthday. (I've written about her before.) I only have one - all the rest of the "grandchildren" are boys. (I don't think any of us mind.) Our boys are great, but our girl child...my one and only niece - she makes up for being the only girl. And then some.

The thing about her that is so amazing is that she was quite literally born with a God Given Talent. From the moment a crayon was first put in her tiny, little fist she has been creating works of art. She is remarkable. She just draws, and sketches, and colors - non stop. Sort of like the rest of us breathe.

I just spent the weekend with her (and the rest of my family) and I was (again) amazed at how good she is and how consistently she draws. If she is not eating, or sleeping, she is drawing. And so fast! It's like watching a machine in motion. She's in a special art college now to learn how to do animation like they do at Pixar. I have NO doubt she will go far. Very, VERY far. I am continuously amazed by her and admire her, not just for her talent, but for who she is. She is so beautiful. Just like her art.

So... Happy Birthday Niece. I guess I don't tell you this enough, but I Love You. Very much.