The Onesie Chronicles

When I was 20, I had my tonsils out. It was the most horrific, painful three weeks of my entire life. I couldn't eat, I couldn't drink (even water) to take the pain medication the doctor gave me, I couldn't talk. I started a list of things I wanted to eat once I could again, and at the top of it was "An Amy-sized statue of tuna rolls." I love me some sushi.

Six months ago, I gave birth to my son via c-section. After all the horror stories, all the warnings and cautions about recovery time and potential for infection and agonizing pain, I really didn't think it was bad at all. I was walking around the day after and home and pain-free in a week. To put it bluntly, I'd rather have 100 c-sections again -- while being lit on fire -- than go through a tonsillectomy again.

Somewhere in between those two came this week's surgical awesomeness... wisdom teeth removal.

Here they are -- all four -- in all their bloody stump glory.

I originally went to see an oral surgeon in November. I was in agonizing pain, after being told since I was like 10 that I would someday have to have my impacted wisdom teeth out. I have never even had a cavity, much less oral surgery, save for the tonsillectomy which was really more, uh, throatal surgery. But I digress.

I went for a consult and after looking at my x-rays for approximately, oh, 8 seconds, the oral surgeon told me that all four of these little suckers would have to come out. I was in so much pain that day -- one had "erupted" through the gums, and another had turned sideways and was making eating anything impossible -- that I was just fine with that and would let him do it with pliers that day if he'd prefer. He laughed, said that was probably not the way to go, and prescribed me an antibiotic to keep the one that had broken through, which had apparently become infected, from getting worse. One very important question was asked, "Do you want to be asleep for the surgery?" I answered with a resounding yes, knowing that even if I was only semi-concious, hearing one 'crack' of a tooth would make me hit the floor, and I made the appointment for two weeks after that. Finally, I'd be pain free, and maybe the teeth that my parents paid $3K in braces to straighten out could go back to their pristine form instead of looking like they were fighting to be front and center in an epic battle of the Dentites.

I ended up having to cancel for various reasons, not the least of which was end of quarter at work and various holiday parties. I rescheduled (eventually) for January 13. D-Day. Well, O-day (for 'oral surgery' -- get it?) was upon us.

Normally, this wouldn't be something I'd get freaked out about. I didn't bat an eyelash when the OB at the hospital told me I'd have to have a c-section, and I was a-ok with having my tonsils out because of all the throat issues I'd had. Yet Tuesday night (surgery was Wednesday), my husband was bribing me with sushi, a new outfit and Rock Band 2 to get me NOT to cancel the surgery. We've already taken the days off, we have everything you need, I'll help you all the way, he said. Pssh. How can I argue with that?

It wasn't that I was necessarily afraid on my own, but it's because everyone has a freaking horror story about their wisdom teeth. It's not that I don't want to hear them, but having 10 people telling me that it's the worst pain they've ever felt in their lives... not exactly what I needed to hear.

I got up Wednesday morning and put on my comfy new outfit (when they say "wear loose-fitting clothing," I take that to the extreme) and piled into the car. My mother-in-law was watching the baby for us while I had the surgery -- they told my husband he had to stay the entire time -- and after we kissed the baby goodbye, she said to me "Enjoy your nap!" I told her I hoped it wasn't the 'big nap,' and we were on our way.

Once I was seated in the chair, it dawned on me that it was pretty much too late to back out. I *could*, still clad in the blue spit bib and blood pressure cuff, run screaming out of the exam room, through the waiting room and out to the car. I could. I *could* bite the surgeon when he came in or star crying uncontrollably. Instead, I chose to sit there and giggle silently at those options.

The surgeon came in and said hello, and told me I'd feel a little pinch as he put the IV for anesthesia in. Just before the juice started flowing, he said, "It's about to be happy hour," and in true me fashion, I asked, "Wait, not for you too, right?" He laughed, and I was out.

Before I continue, let me say this... as nervous as I am before any surgery, there's a certain amount of comfort that comes with knowing that you're out, you nap, and once it's over, you'll wake up generally still riding the anesthesia and/or painkiller high, and with whatever you went in for originally NOT ailing you now. It was like that with my tonsils, it was (obviously) like that with my c-section.

It was NOT like that with my wisdom teeth.

That's because instead of riding the little IV-in-the-arm-anesthesia-high right through groggily marching my way to the recovery area, I woke up. I WOKE UP. I WOKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THEM CRACKING A TOOTH AND YANKING IT OUT OF MY GUMS, AND I FELT IT ALL. As it was happening, I couldn't say anything, so I did the only thing I could think of -- I hit a nurse, right in the babymaker (in my defense, it was the only thing at slap-level). She looked at my OPEN eyes, said, "Oh, oh, she's awake," and I was back asleep.

Next thing I knew, I was laying down on a cot in the recovery area -- after having walked there myself and having no recollection of it whatsoever -- and my husband was coming in to hug me because I was shivering. After some simple instructions, we were on our way to the car. The nurse told me when I stood up, I'd feel like I didn't quite have my balance. "You're going to feel drunk," she said. I stood up and walked perfectly normally out into the waiting room. "You're actually doing really well. You must be a good drinker," "Oh, I am." She's clearly never seen the likes of me at a wedding.

Since getting home, I've had pain on and off. Everyone said the second day would be much worse than the first, but I didn't really find that. Between a steady stream of ibuprofen, Percocet (only when I need it), penicillin, rinsing with salt water, ice packs and applesauce, I've been just fine. I can even sleep on my sides, and have really had minimal swelling. I'm doing okay.

It always seems that most of the worries I have before something like this never really come to fruition. I was terrified after my c-section I wouldn't be able to bend or walk or pick up my son... and I was just fine. Even the tonsillectomy pain came and eventually went (though I never did get that Amy-sized statue of tuna rolls).

But even this time, when my biggest fear -- waking up in the middle and hearing the dreaded "crack" of a tooth -- came true... eh, I'm okay. I'm over it. And I've heard from at least one other person that the same thing happened to them.

It wasn't pleasant, and slowly, I'll be back to normal -- I'll be back at work on Monday, and be resembling Alvin the Chipmunk's girlfriend much less, the stitches will have disolved, and I'll be back to eating and drinking solid foods. And finally, my mouth won't hurt anymore.

In the meantime, pass the applesauce.

The holidays have come and gone, and I’m finally able to come up for air.

Between Christmas Eve, Christmas, quarter end at work and New Year’s Eve, it’s been a little crazy.

But all that – including several nights of working very late, getting up and doing it all over again – aside, we had a wonderful “baby’s first” Christmas.

We had planned to have a party at our house on the 19th, but had to cancel thanks to our awesome, completely predictable New England weather. Some spots got up to two feet of snow that night. Instead, we spent the night at home, albeit a little depressed, with Chinese take-out.

For Christmas Eve, we went to my husband’s grandparents’ to spend some time and then to my parents’ house. Then we headed home to finish up some wrapping and wait for Santa. We were up ‘til 3 a.m. wrapping presents for a baby who doesn’t know what Christmas is and can’t even sit up on his own yet, much less open gifts. So basically, it was going to be us opening the presents we just wrapped (and even took the time to disguise our handwriting. For a baby. Who can’t read. Awesome.).

Christmas Day brought some visitors to our house for the first time ever – my parents, my sister and her husband. We spent the day and early evening opening presents and trying to make a very snot-filled baby smile. At first, the little guy had no idea what he was doing, but by the afternoon, he’d figured out how to tear himself some wrapping paper and he was a happy boy.

Here are some of our Christmas pictures, hoping you and yours had a lovely holiday.