Wednesday, September 02, 2009
sunset and mist on the mountain 3
We had her whole dental surgery thing planned like a rocket launch at NASA. My mother, dizzy from pain relievers, fell after surgery a couple of years ago, shattering her pelvis and in general fucking herself up but good, so we were all paranoid about Annie. Therefore, we refused to leave her alone for 24 hours, which she hates and resents, but we were determined and thus first Helen was with her and then me and then Audrey and my brother was in and out. We were all watching her like hawks, waiting for the first moment of dizziness, of spaced outedness, of by god Drug Abuse from the Vicodin the dentist had sent her home with.
Well, that worry was pointless. It takes more and better drugs than Vicodin to faze the Queen of Bohemia. She felt fine. She wasn't in any pain; her mouth wasn't bleeding; she was perfectly coherent and all in all she was in better shape after dental surgery than I generally am after flossing. I should have known she could handle her drugs.
You never do know, though. I tend to react to pain meds by going to sleep - actually, I react to a lot of things, including unpleasant tasks, this way - while my son and daughter both get sick. Back in the late 70s, I took Quaaludes twice. For pain, okay? For the PAIN of TEENAGE ANGST. I reacted exactly the same way both times: 20 minutes of nothing merged gently into 20 minutes of pleasant loopiness which then merged gently, or not so gently, depending on if I was standing up or not, into 14 hours of absolute and unshakable slumber. It didn't, somehow, seem worth the investment.