I went back to my handsome Cowboy-Dental-Surgeon a week ago to have the hole in my head fixed. You may recall that I broke a tooth last Spring while eating some salad and it had to be pulled.
In case you’ve forgotten what he looks like, here’s a little reminder.
I tried to live with the gap, I really did. Eventually I’d get used to covering my mouth with not one, but two hands every time I guffawed, right? And so what if I used my fork instead of a tooth pick to dislodge the food that got stuck in that cavernous space. Food like cranberries and peanut butter on toast, bite-sized pieces of chicken, and broccoli flowers. Surely I could enjoy a decent quality of life without Kraft caramels or sponge toffee. Couldn’t I?
But then I broke a tooth on the other side of my mouth, probably because I had been favouring one side for so many months, and even though the dentist was able to repair that one, I didn’t want to risk compromising the mastication process any further.
During the pre-op consultation, I was advised that I could opt for sedation during the procedure and opt I did.
The assistant seemed awfully concerned when I announced as much during last week’s pre-surgery prep. “Are you sure someone is going to be picking you up?” Maybe they were worried I would try to sleep it off on one of the plush waiting room chairs. Once I reassured her, she put this ginormous four-cornered cap over my head and complained the whole time that I had too much hair. (Yeah, yeah, talk to my hair dresser.) So there I was looking like the anti-conehead, wondering whether or not the person who designed it actually knew that the world was round. Ian says they put it on me because I’m a tête carré but I think we can all safely assume that they make you look as ridiculous as possible so that they can laugh at you while you’re ga-ga in la-la land.
I don’t remember what handsome Cowboy-Dental-Surgeon was wearing when he finally walked into the operating room but I’m pretty sure he was thinking there was a mighty big planet filling up the corners of that square hat. I also recall him telling me I should feel the effects of the sedation almost immediately, right after he injected me.
My next conscious thought when I woke up was that it was all over and oh God, please don’t tell me my mouth was open the whole time and gasp, what if I drooled? Needless to say, by the time they brought Ian into the room, I was still pretty groggy and discombobulated. I’m surprised I managed to remember my PIN number after handing over my credit card. Bet they’ve got some pretty strong smelling salts handy when that happens. Or maybe they just tie you to a plush chair until you come to and fork over the cash.
On a completely different topic but eventually getting back to the main one, this past week-end, Ian and I were discussing possibly buying matching cowboy boots. Where does one buy cowboy gear in Montreal anyway? And are they any good for meaty calves? As my ex-mother-in law used to point out to others while I was still within earshot, “She got hefty legs, don’t she?” By the way, I blame their heft and meatiness on all the toe-raising I have to do reaching for stuff.
I mentioned my follow-up appointment with Cowboy-Dental-Surgeon today and Ian asked me if he wore cowboy boots. “I dunno. I never really checked his feet.”
So I decided to look down … look way down, during my follow-up visit today, not an easy feat when the person you are trying to check out insists on making constant eye contact with you. I definitely noticed what he was wearing on top: a lovely burnt orange shirt with a cowboy embroidered on it and rich, chocolaty slacks. The opportunity finally arose as I swung my legs off the dental chair and sneaked a look down, down, down. Oy. Here is what (I think) I saw: