Gone in 35

Ever since my husband and I began producing little money pits, I knew this day would come. And 18 years and 10 months later, it did.

Every single one of them, four to be exact, had to go. Sure, roots run deep, and the attachment strong, but their presence compromised the kind of un-congested environment New Yorkers only dream of. Besides that, all they did was sit idle, without contributing or progressing. Kinda like my 401K.

So, despite the sacrifice, it was a calculated riddance to prevent trouble down the line. The thing is, now that they are gone, there is a definite ache. A hole. A bloody aching hole.

It all started yesterday. Sean was fasting for the promise of sedation. I was fasting out of respect for my tradition of only eating breakfast I don’t have to make. We arrived at 11:45 am at the Castle of Dirty Gum Work. We filled out enough paperwork to start a forest fire. This is where the jitters began.

Sure, I am a medical professional. I understand the comprehensive Consent Form. But, my lands! We are talking about my child. The form listed possible surgical outcomes such as:

cheeks the size of a Volkswagen bug
bleeding from facial orifices
paralysis of tongue, lips and eyeballs
shattering of every major bone listed in Grey’s Anatomy
tastebuds that no longer despise seafood
brain damage
death (I am not making this up)

Thorough. Nice. Even Harry Potter would tremble.

Now that we had been placed completely at ease, the receptionist peeked out from behind the sliding glass window and sweetly piped up. “We’ll need a co-pay. We charge $32,000 per minute to put you at risk of brain damage” (at least that is the way I heard it....).

At that moment I figured it out. Those double-paned, no-doubt bullet-proof glass windows are NOT to ensure HIPAA confidentiality like they want us to believe.

Oh ya, did I mention “The Form” forgot to list this:

bleeding from every financial orifice

Then, speaking of Harry Potter, in walked the surgeon whose name was DUDLEY. It is a little hard to have faith and confidence in man whose name is forever linked with Petunia and Uncle Vernon. But Dr. Dudley’s kind, confident manner soon won us over. Here was a man who no doubt had risen above constant grade school Dudley Do-Right type-ridicule to reach the coveted status of King Expensive Pain Inflictor. Snidely Whiplash would be proud.

No time was wasted. The office routine was precisely and efficiently executed. Two assistants slapped on oxygen, an ECG and O2 sat monitor and placed an IV as fast as a lizard can infiltrate a Southern-Utah home. Then Dr. Dudley presented Sean with a certificate inducting him into the First Time IV Club.

And then, the drugs: as the medicine began its ascent up the median cephalic vein, Sean tracked the location by the coldness of the liquid. Before the magic potion reached the inferior vena cava, Sean was asleep. “Take good care of my baby,” I whispered and went to the waiting room to lament about the breakfast I should have eaten.

35 minutes later, Dr. Dudley came into the waiting room and said all went well…at least in terms of survival. But watching Sean come out of sedation made me question the brain damage part. Think Forrest Gump mixed with Robin Williams. Or maybe Sylvester Stallone crossed with Richard Simmons. Drunken Sean gave the entire office a good laugh. Unfortunately no videos were taken for future blackmail ammo.

Now on day two, recovery is going well: complete with bloody gauze, milkshakes, Carnation instant breakfasts, ice cream, salt water rinses, and pain pills. Sean has me inspect the surgical site. I have to look so far into the back of the mouth that Sean’s uvula gets twisted around my flashlight.

Thankfully, so far the dreaded “dry socket” has been avoided. This happens when a precious blood clot gets dislodged from the space previously occupied by the large calcium parabola leaving a crater the size of Nebraska. And causing pain as bad as living in Nebraska.

This was all part of the sacrifice in order to go on a mission.

I am proud of Sean and his willingness to do this for his convictions and his desire to offer selfless service.

Dr. Dudley is proud too. Once Sean gets his mission call, he can send a copy to Dr. Studley…er…I mean…Dudley who will contribute to Sean’s mission. A small return on our $300,000 de-wisdom tooth investment.

Now I have gotta go. The bloody aching holes and their owner need attention. I have to make sure the Creamies I got for "volkswagen bug-face" are palatable!

After Sean’s great sacrifice, it’s the least I could do.


Minutes after the assault


Ice glorious ice!


Dr. Studley