This morning Ross had his wisdom removed. We were both shocked when the receptionist told us it would only take about 45 minutes to an hour. I had been planning to go up to the office for a team meeting and then mosey back to the doctor's office, maybe even return some shoes on the way. Instead I ran to the pharmacy, got his 'scrips and joined the team meeting via conference call.
When I was allowed back to see my recovering chubby cheeked patient the first thing he mumbled was "no cow'oun." It took me a minute but what he meant was when they put the anesthesia gas mask on him, they didn't ask him to countdown. And as he would tell me later when the drugs wore off, apparently they put the gas mask on him and what felt like five minutes later, took it off. He started to ask what had gone wrong but before he could get the words out they told him he was done.
Another early and awesome conversation with drugged, toothless hubby went as follows
Ross: I asked to keep my teeth. They wouldn't let me keep them.
Me: Gross! I wouldn't let you keep them either.
Ross: What!? They're my teeth!
I shared this insightful conversation with a few friends via text and Val suggested that Martha Stewart probably had a way to make them into this year's newest Christmas ornaments. I called that creepy, she called it resourceful.
Anyways, several hours later, we're at home and he's on drugs but not acting too loopy. A bowl of sorbet just proved to be God's gift to the wisdom-toothless and now we're experimenting with sorbet-limeade-cranberry juice-strawberry slushes. Oh and of course, no amount of drugs or holes in his mouth would keep my hubby from cheering against Ben Roethlisberger so we're doing that too.
To our Christmas tree.
