COMFORTABLY NUMB

Evenin people. How was your day? Had your meals? Relieved your bowels? So I take it that there are no immediate concerns? Good. Very good. Now ease your arse into a comfortable position and we shall be on our way.

What? What is that you are asking? Am I high? Yes I am. Am I drunk? No I am not. Have I been subjected to local anesthesia? You bet your bloody ass I have been.

What? What did I get drugged for? Well, why don’t you get your gums prodded, poked, sliced open and then sewn back up without local anesthesia and maybe you might realize why. Ok. I see the next question. Why did I need to subject my gums to the Nazi third degree? Well douche bags; this was the scenario (I shall try to make it as gory a description as possible by including every minute disgusting detail. Hell, why don’t you just switch off the lights of the room and huddle up with a torch shining up your chin just to add to the effect?). The wisdom tooth on the left side of my jaw decided to be a wise guy (pun intended bitterly) and grow horizontally outwards instead of doing the all-round nice thing of growing out vertically. Naturally the teeth around protested and Mr.Gums puffed up (literally) in self-righteous indignation. Hence, here we had an ideal scenario for itty-bitty food particles to sneak stealthily into the itty-bitty spaces. This obviously was not a good sign, for where there are itty-bitty food particles, there are bound to be ittier-bittier bacteria waiting to move in and make themselves at home. And that’s exactly what happened and pretty soon we had a thriving civilization in the recesses of my gums. Eventually Mr.Pus-in-boots showed up and that’s when things started getting rather painful for yours truly.

Boo hoo, what was I to do? Troop to the nearest dentist of course. And what was his reaction? Well, he tried his best to act according to the gravity of the situation with well-timed hmmms and hawwws accompanied by sympathetic clicking of the tongue (his, that is), but the gleam in his eye on witnessing a potential goldmine was all-too-apparent. Jerry Maguire’s “Show me the money!” came to my mind. Well, he prescribed some dope, asked me to get the x-rays done and eventually let me in on a little secret that I would need to undergo “SURGERY”. Well, with a little whimper of protest, I accepted the inevitable and decided to commend my soul to the Almighty.

Today was the fateful day and I marched in with my shoulders up, chest out and my head held high. There was no way I was going to go down like a simpering idiot. I felt like a gladiator preparing for battle and had half a mind to walk up to the dentist and blurt out “ Hail DoucheBag!! We who are about to cry salute you!!”. Well, I deposited my posterior on the chair and the Great Indian Dental Challenge was underway with the doc vs my wisdom tooth.

Round 1: The doc peers into my maw and exclaims in awe on witnessing the presence of Pus-in-Boots. After the initial jab, he recovers and starts squirting Local.A into my gums rendering it senseless. He then whips out a mean blade and slashes at the extra tissue growth atop my teeth and draws first blood (eewwww!!). The doc takes Round 1.

Round 2: Just when the doc seems to taking the upper hand, the wisdom tooth in an act of desperation unleashes the full power of its pus-attack and the doc is floored by the copious amounts produced (ewwww once again). The wisdom tooth takes Round 2.

Round 3: The two battle it out with yours truly squirming around like an intoxicated worm. Finally the fight is called a draw with the doc saying that there was way too much pus around to risk cutting the bone (yeah you read that right) and the tooth. So they will be having a rematch in the future.

Meanwhile, yours truly is making mumbly-wumbly noises due the fact that there is gauze pad stuffed in my mouth (kinda like those kidnapping scenes where a gag is stuffed down the victims mouth) and my left jaw was numb and swollen making me a “Puff-Daddy” of sorts. And I wearily collect my sorry ass and haul off home with dreaded thoughts of the music to be faced once the dope wears out.

A note on the Local.A. It produces the distinct feeling of having a large piece of chicken in your mouth minus the taste and when you take a tentative bite, you realize to your horror that it is your tongue. You can rub and pinch your cheeks (the ones on your face, I mean) for all they are worth and your fingers will feel like they are touching leather.

However, I felt no pain at all during the entire procedure. Well folks, that is my story. Tomorrow is another day which will probably see yours truly getting his just desserts (Incidentally, I have been asked to hog Ice Creams. Bye Bye waistline!!) . Until then I remain………..COMFORTABLY NUMB.