Any excuse for a delicious strawberry milkshake

I am a stubborn person. (Scott will read this and laugh with a sarcastic, "NO!")

I also tend to freak out when I really should just try to stay sane and be positive. (Scott is probably snorting at this point.)

With that being said (Scott, are you listening???) I freaked out for no reason.
The wisdom teeth surgery went really well, or at least I assume it did because I remember none of it.

I was brought into a small room, told to sit into a room, asked my weight (on a side note, I had NO idea, so I ventured on the high end in case it dealt with how much anesthesia I could get, haha), hooked up to a blood pressure and pulse monitor and slammed with a mask of oxygen over my nose.

The doctor came in and surprised me with a good ole IV in my right arm. I remember freaking out about that, watching the numbers on the monitor spike instantly and being asked if I was OK. I responded with something semi-affirmative and was told by the doc "The worst part is over. You'll be sleeping soon... and then you'll be sleeping some more."

He was so right.

Scott told me about being asked to count backwards from 100 and I've heard stories of being asked about Disney Land visits.

I was all set to start counting. Instead, I watched the pulse go from the 70s to 69, and then 68, and then, wait is it an IV anesthesia? Man that guy IS sneaky. Then 67...

... and then 35 minutes later, I somehow made it to a recovery room across the hallway where Scott was brought in to meet me.

I was shaking for about 10 minutes, probably from the anesthesia, but that went away, I laid back, didn't say anything and was allowed to leave shortly after. (Unlike the bratty teen in the room next to me who couldn't leave because of her bipolar recovery techniques... "I want a burger... Ow, this hurts... Mom, I want to go. No, Mom I can't move. Waaaaaaaah."

I never even knew how much gauze I had, bloodied and hanging out of my mouth, until Scott had gone out for an hour or so to run some errands and I went to scratch my nose and ran into the gauze with my fingertips.

I guess when Scott went to pick up my prescriptions, he was under intense scrutiny for fear of him picking up the hard drugs for his addiction. He tried to take the pressure off of him by asking about drug interactions, at which point he was humiliated in public about birth control not working for about a month after interaction with one of my prescriptions.

"Yeah, that was fun," Scott retorted when I teased him about it.

He's been a great male nurse, although I told him I would raise his salary if he worked in the buff or had bought five strawberry milkshakes instead of just one, which I inhaled like I may never eat again.

He's still pretty darned great, though.

And I survived!!!