My first surgery

Today I had my wisdom teeth pulled. I was really, really nervous the last two days, about everything from the laughing gas to the mental images I'd gotten when the doctor said, "we cut open the gums..." to the horror stories people told me when I said what I'd be doing today:

"Do you work tomorrow?"

"No, I'm getting my wisdom teeth out tomorrow"

"Oh that sucks. When I got mine out, [insert something about pain or drooling all over the place or dry sockets]."

So that was fun.

Today, though, wasn't so bad. They'd given me some sort of pills to relax me, and although I'm fairly certain I wasn't feeling it, from the minute I walked into the office until I buckled my seat belt for the ride home, there was a nurse escorting me through every step.

Along with the "relaxing" pills, I also got a dose of laughing gas. Now, I know I was nervous, but I didn't think it was anything out of the ordinary. I am, after all, a worrier. While I lay in the chair being pumped full of laughing gas (not as unpleasant as I'd imagined), I was also listening to my iPod (pleasant) and being shot with huge syringes of novicane (most unpleasant sensation of the day). I tried not to, I really did, but OHMYGOD it hurt and I sort of teared up a little, causing the doctor and nurse to give me handfuls of tissues and reassure me. The doctor also said something about my eyes that I think was a compliment of some sort, but at this point I was still listening to my iPod and starting to feel the drugs.

This proved to be maybe not such a good thing, at least for the next ten minutes.

I was left alone to let the novicane sink in (and it did--I just regained use of my lower lip half an hour ago and didn't feel a thing through the surgery), and suddenly I was FREAKING OUT. I was shaking and crying and I was so embarrassed and flustered by this that it made it worse. I finally got my shit together right before the doctor came back in thankfully, and I was able to keep from crying the rest of the time I was there. The shaking, however, never subsided, and while it was probably better to concentrate on controlling it that think about the drill in my mouth. I've attributed this little Adventure in Drugland to the laughing gas. It is an adventure I never want to take again. Laughing gas, indeed.

Here's hoping that a comfortable shoe helps reduce inner rage

I got home from work about an hour ago, and I had a fabulous entry all planned out in my head about my crazy morning helping the people who run swim team practice. Then before I could get to my computer, I unleashed the rage* on my dad and sister. When I sat down, I realized I didn't need to get the story off my chest so badly anymore.

Another story I have been gushing about (but have yet to grow weary of) happened at Dick's the other day. Scott and I were looking at shoes, and when I saw these:

I scoffed. "What ugly shoes!" I said. "Why do people wear those? I wouldn't be caught DEAD in them!"

Then I tried them on.

There is a pair being shipped to me from Atlanta, GA, because although I didn't purchase them RIGHT THERE, I couldn't stop thinking about them. I looked at the website, read the testimonials, and between that and the memory of HOW GOOD THEY FELT ON MY FEET, my credit card practically entered its own number into the computer itself--THAT'S how much each iota of my being wanted to wear those shoes again.

And, a list:
Three Things I'd Never Done Before the Last Week
1. Helped pull a golden retriever from the swimming pool (amidst a crowd of clapping SWIM TEAM MOTHERS!!! Who were clapping for the DOG, their "new team mascot!!!") (Maybe the rage is still there...?)
2. Visited the chiropractor (Best. Thing. EVER.)
3. Cleaned up puke using that sawdust stuff (this job, it's so glamorous)



*I generally attempt to be a nice person, but occasionally I snap and feel like I am filled with rage. Bring up the topic inducing these feelings? I unleash the rage (as much as I can, because let's face it, I'm not really cut out to be any of the adjectives you'd think a rage-crazed person would be). I can only recall two instances of this in the past six months; one was this morning.

Charming anecdotes just for you from the Loudonville Pool

1. Every few years there are places along the edge of the pool that have to be patched, i.e. torn up and filled in with new cement. Generally these spots are in such bad shape that you can pull out the old pieces with your hands and do only a little bit of work to get the rest out. Last month, for example, one of the first things I did before we opened the pool was help fix a square-foot piece of cement. I'd never done it before, but it appealed to what I think was my crafty side (look! a little project I made!). Then a few days ago, we decided to fix another spot. Unlike the first time, this took several hours, because we decided to replace a lot that didn't need replacing. I'm not going to go into details, but let's just say that in the end, our senile maintenance man told us that we needed to start enforcing the shower-before-entering rule because a lot of kids were dragging rocks into the pool.

2. Scott recently gave himself a black eye doing a gainer. Whenever I heard someone ask him how he got it, I'd wait for him to finish recounting the dive and then I'd say, "and that's why we don't let people do gainers!" I found this a) endlessly funny and b) a good lesson for lifeguards who don't enforce the rules.

3. Last week we had someone come teach us about balancing water pH, alkalinity, chlorine, hardness, etc. We haven't quite gotten the pool to behave for us yet, but I think we secretly like being able to fuss over the problems, then fix them and feel like we really know what we're doing. (But hey--maybe we do.)

4. I taught a little girl how to dive the other day. Now, she is my biggest fan. This job, sometimes it is just SUCH a confidence booster. I HAVE FANS!

5. And here is a pretty picture I took from the pool deck after we closed the other night:

You say wishful thinking, I say faith in medicine

We have a running joke at the pool about how badly we all treat our skin. Almost everyday someone leaves with a sunburn, and we're all vainly proud of the deep tans we get by the end of the summer. This, everyone warns us, will lead to cancer.

Which, really, is probably true. And for a long time we were sure we were doomed to this fate--so sure, in fact, that we religiously wore Lance Armstrong wristbands because we knew the money we donated now would probably help treat our ruined skin later.

But a few weeks ago during a conversation we were having as we baked in the sun, we decided that in twenty years, we're confident that there will be a cure for cancer. I mentioned it in passing to a friend later that day, and he scoffed at me. But I have faith in those researchers. And look, here is something to be excited about: a cervical cancer vaccine.

If you'll excuse me I need to go to work on my tan.