Frankenmouth

It's countdown to oral surgery. Indeed, it's oral surgery eve eve. Which is to say, it's scheduled for Friday. I am fairly terrified, but am trying to distract myself by making jokes about it. You may have noticed that this is my strategy for most of life. Well, that and crying.

I have been provided with a great many documents by the periodontist: instructions for pre- and post-surgery, waivers where I agree to not sue them if I lose all feeling in my mouth or if my face becomes permanently discolored (what?), financial agreements where I agree to pay them more money than I actually have, etc. The best of these forms is entitled "PATIENT'S CONSENT FOR CONNECTIVE TISSUE GRAFTING WITH HUMAN DERMAL PRODUCT"

Human Dermal Product is pretty much comedy that writes itself.

There is also a lot of focus put on the need to be escorted from the treatment by a "responsible person." Obviously, you can't drive yourself, but you are also not allowed to take a bus or a taxi unaccompanied. In fact, if you cannot produce evidence of this responsible person, they will either cancel your appointment, or proceed without sedating you. I wrote to my mother to double check whether she felt she qualified as responsible. Because you know what? I'm not undergoing this without sedation. She thinks she can make a good case for herself. She used to be a kindergarten teacher.

I also gave her this information from the post-op instructions:
" Attend to either an alert of sleepy patient in the same manner; do not trust him/her alone."

You know I am not to be trusted when I'm sleepy. ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN! (Most likely, sleeping, but still. I might do it in a CRAZY, RECKLESS manner.)
So, there will probably be bleeding and gauze and things. There may also be sleeping. I'll keep you up to date. If you wanted to get together for chips and salsa and corn on the cob and then make out with me, well, I'll have to take a rain check. (But that sounds fun, so let's be sure to get that on the calendar.)