In an act of insanity I celebrated my last day of work by getting two wisdom teeth pulled
In an act of insanity I celebrated my last day of work by getting two wisdom teeth pulled. I could have gone for four wisdom teeth being pulled, but two was what I thought I could realistically bear. I did not go for drinks, a movie or a nice dinner. I went and got teeth pulled. Ouch. While in the dentist waiting room, as I waited over 30 minutes, a pair of cops came in. A woman went to meet them and I could hear her introducing herself as “the woman who made the distress call.” I looked up and she looked down at me and asked the cops whether they could take their conversation outside. I flinched. This was not the way to celebrate my last day of work. As I headed back to the “operating” room, I passed a man groaning in agony. I finally got my two teeth pulled and I could not speak for an hour thereafter.
I sat in the living room trying to watch some television thinking about the irony of not being able to speak in that moment. I should be happily screaming to the top of my lungs with the joy of being done with this life chapter. Instead I was quietly sitting there pondering the wacky plot lines of Friday night television. I took a vicodin to help dull the pain and promptly fell asleep. Then the next day was a blur. I woke up in pain and nauseous. I took another vicodin and then proceeded to vomit.
The thing is I do not handle opiates very well. Oxycontin, Vicodin, name it and it makes me beyond nauseous. I spent the rest of the day in a haze. I slept for hours on end. I have not slept that much in over ten years. I slept with no work worries hanging over me. Of course, my stomach was in extreme turmoil. Once the bad stuff was out of my system I slept wild, vivid dreams in which I was a warrior leading my people to victory. I think I have been watching too many shows like “the 100”. I was now beyond my last day of work. I was moving on to a new adventure where indeed I would now be the ultimate boss.
That last day, I was repeatedly wished good luck on my new journey and I was often told how “proud” people were of me and what I have made of myself. I did not quite know what to make of such accolades. At one point I even cried which is entirely unlike me. I notably cried when I started talking about how much of my life and of me I had put into that place. Indeed, I had given it my all and even more. While all these people professed to be proud of my efforts I realized I was the proudest of them all. I had established a voice for myself during this time. A voice is a mighty thing to have. Which, of course brings me to the irony, of not being able to use it immediately after my last day of work.
For ten years, I used my voice loudly and proudly. Then for one day, it was quieted. Those moments of speechlessness, gave me additional perspective and, of course, some pain. It’s a great, albeit icky, time of reflection. I do not recommend that you get your teeth extracted and ingest vicodin to get that time of reflection. However, it is nice to be quiet for a few minutes and not go straight into a loud celebratory outing. The moments of quiet allow you to listen to yourself and not the hype that surrounds you in such moments of celebration. The teeth extraction is extreme and a momentary bit of insanity on my part. I never did find out why the woman called the cops at the dentist office. I am, now, through the other side of pain and now begins a new life chapter.