Well, this makes me sad and happy at the same time. Sad at what you went through, and sad that she is the way she is. Because: why? Sometimes what happens early in life can completely fuck up your life. And you can't MAKE someone want a normal life.
But happy that you and VSB have peace.
I was 30 when I had my wisdom teeth pulled. Those drugs are some good stuff - I was HAPPY. EVERYONE was my friend and I wanted to thank everyone.
That would explain it.
I had mine done at around age 20. Three of them froze properly. The last one did not. It wasn't the worst pain I've ever experienced: I rated it as only a 7 or 8 on a scale of 1 to 10. There are probably still finger marks in the chair arms, but it wasn't from the discomfort, the blood and bits of bone everywhere, or the TMJ joint on one side of my jaw unhinging like a python's. It was because the dental surgeon started humming and singing show tunes while he worked. Now, he'd been setting off my gay-dar for quite a while and when he started belting out Eponine's big solo "On My Own" from "Les Miserables" he pretty much removed all doubt. I really didn't care about his personal life, and his singing voice was actually pretty good, but his choice of repertoire was giving me TMI problems to go along with the TMJ problems. I got through the experience by fantasizing about all the different ways I could take his scalpel away and use it violently. But to this day I have flashbacks every time I hear that song.
From a superstitious perspective I kind of set myself up for the experience by agreeing to have the dental surgery done on the 13th day of the month, but since it was a Wednesday in April instead of a Friday in October I figured I was probably all right. Realistically, there's probably no such thing as a good day to pay someone to gouge teeth out of your jawbone without sewing up the holes left behind.
Afterwards I drove myself to university to turn in an assignment and take a test; it was safe to drive because all they used was injectable local anesthetic which wore off a couple hours later. I drooled a bit until that happened and probably looked kind of ridiculous sitting in the class. There were some pain pills to start in the evening, but after trying one and realizing they don't work on me I ignored the rest because I decided they were placebos so I ignored them. Oil of cloves worked much better. Subsequent surgeries, including two ACL replacements which I rate as a 4 and a 3 on the pain scale, I handled with basic ice and Ibuprofen.
I find that opiates, for me, have zero effect on actual pain and in my opinion just make it more annoying. One of my mutations, I suppose, or maybe it's my lack of faith making the placebo effect not work. I get all the unpleasant side effects including nausea, constipation, cognitive impairment, and the desire to cause massive physical and verbal damage to others. But not one bit of the joy.
Topic: Relatives who just don't get it (Read 2926698 times)
