Wisdom Teeth. They Ain’t So Smart.

You find out who people are when they're on anesthesia. My Number One Son got his smartypants-teeth out last week and it was highly entertaining. As a side note, why are they called "wisdom teeth?" If they're really wise, why do we remove them? We are in desperate need of wisdom, as a world. Judging by the news maybe we should leave peoples' wiz-teeth in.

Anyway, the experience with this boy was kind of adorable. I already knew it was going to be funky. We don't drink or put anything else of questionable origin into our bodies. Never have. This kid has an older sister who, when she had her oral surgery, used the medication coursing through her virgin-veins as an opportunity to behave like a lunatic. She slammed me into walls, the shower, the garbage can — whatever was nearby — as I tried to help her maneuver around the house. And she temporarily lost the power of speech, growling like a garbage truck every time I asked her something. She was having a ball.

Now, Kid1 is a good kid and still she acted like that. Naturally I was apprehensive about Kid2. Well, after his surgery I picked the boy up and ran by the post office. Then we went on to Roxberry for a fruit smoothie. We sat and discussed flavors and sizes and finally ordered. As I was driving off I mused, "Hmm. I'm kind of hungry." And Kid2, true to his natural kind nature and through a mouth full of cotton and a numb tongue, said: "Go ahead and ge' some foo'. I'b fibe. I can juth wai' in the cahhhh."  And I was all, "Are sure? I can get something at home. I don't want to leave you in the car." "No, no, ibit's fibe. I'be fibe. You ca' go." 

So I go'ed. Stopped at Café Rio where there was a sizeable line. After a bit I got worried. I'd left Kid2 all druggy and alone in a car with the windows rolled down. I had to make sure he wasn't wandering around the parking lot and the cops weren't ready to arrest me for being a neglectful mother. So I popped out to check on him, but he shook his cotton-stuffed head and said, "I'be fibe! Go bac' in!" So I did.

As soon as I got back to the car a moment later, my kid sat up and we had this conversation (translated from CottonMouth into English):

Kid2: Hey. Where'd the Roxberry come from?

Me: Frommmm Roxberry. We got it a few minutes ago, remember?

Kid2: We did?

Me: Yeah. Right before I got my food.

Kid2: You got FOOD?

Me: We went to the post office and then to Roxberry and then got food.

Kid2: We went to the POST OFFICE?

Then the doctor called, wanting to make sure all was well, and I said:

Me: We're almost home. We've been gone about half an hour . . . 

Kid2: WE'VE BEEN GONE A HALF AN HOUR????

At home, I helped my child rinse his mouth, take his medicines, and then got him settled on my bed at which time he said, "So, when are you going to give me my medicines?"

I left this short-term-memory-impaired teenager alone in my car in a restaurant parking lot?! I mean, the boy is of age. But clearly he was completely anesthetized. No way was he qualified to be on his own, or, say, operate heavy equipment. He was barely qualified to operate a heavy tongue. And Kid2 stayed like that for another day. Doesn't remember a thing about it. Even when he Jekyl-and-Hyded into an Angry Angry Hippo for a few hours. Doc said it is normal to whack-out a little. Thank heavens that really isn't my child's normal. 

Well, I've learned my lesson. I'll never believe a post-opp'ed child who says they feel fine, even if they are acting normal. Also, my next kid is going to be knocked completely out, have her surgery at home, and I will have a freezer full of fruit smoothies at the ready. I won't have to take her anywhere, and she won't get mad at me for writing about her hysterical behavior on my blog. Because she won't remember it.

*evil grin*