I now have no wisdom teeth. I’m not in too much pain, but you never can tell. I sort of would like to go to work today, but I’ve been told that I can’t drive. Nor can I talk which is a vast part of my job. I have a friend who is coming to take me to work, but I’m concerned about how upsetting it would be if I said at noon “Nope, I’m going home now.”

So I’ve gotten up early this morning to try getting around in case I suddenly realise I can’t work.

Already I know that I don’t want to open my mouth at all. Not even to brush it. The pain meds I’ve been given make me throw up although, upon further reflection, that might have been due to how much blood was swallowed.

—-

I have, now, since beginning to write this been up for about an hour. I went over, attempted to brush my teeth and sort of failed. Attempted breakfast and sort of failed.

I’ve made the executive decision to stay home from work today.

When I feel better I’ll tell you a little about my nitrous experience, which was apparently “funny, but really quite sweet” according to the surgery staff.