If you’ve made it this far, you probably either read, skimmed, or skipped yesterday’s post (which I actually wrote a half hour ago, but before midnight), Dental Hell: The Background.
If you skipped it, and, believe you me, I wouldn’t blame you if you did, here is the background in short: Jack has terrible teeth. Jack no longer cares for the dentist. Jack was going to get his teeth crowned today, come hell, highwater, or IV sedation. Probably the last.
Jack’s appointment today was in ANOTHER STATE at 12:30. I’m sorry, I just can’t get over the fact that we now have to drive an hour over state lines to go to the dentist.
Because Jack was to be sedated, he couldn’t eat within six hours of his appointment, which means that Alex roused Jack at six in the morning to feed him breakfast. This was mildly confusing for Jack, but when he realized that his brothers were heading off to school and I was starting a Looney Tunes marathon for him, I don’t think he cared that much.
At least he didn’t care that much until 11:15 when I turned off the TV so we could get in the car and he went all passive resistance on me because he was HUNGRY! I’M SO HUNGRY! and I had to carry him to the car.
Thus began the car ride of anger and recriminations.
Jack was pissed. He was all, “I need food to survive” and “If I don’t get food, I’ll die” and “I’m going to hold my breath until you cave in and take me to a 7-11 to buy me a 6-pack of mini chocolate doughnuts.”
Because I didn’t want him to aspirate and die when sedated, I couldn’t give in, which just made Jack angrier and angrier. About 20 minutes into our drive he threatened to throw up if I didn’t feed him, remarking ominously, “You must suffer the consequences.” Knowing Jack and his history of horking at the drop of a hat, this was probably a valid threat. Thankfully, it didn’t materialize.
About ten minutes later, when we were passing Dulles Airport and I pointed out an airplane coming in for a landing, Jack calmly said, “I want the airplane to land on you.”
Fortunately, Jack’s dentist office is well-prepared for children, what with their lobby full of air hockey, a tree house, movies, and a video game system on which Jack was able to happily play Lego Star Wars for the 40 minutes between our arrival and our journey to the back room.
My part in today’s appointment was short, but less than awesome. I sat in the dental chair with Jack on my lap, held down his legs with my own, gripped his arms in a super bear hug—but not the fun, cuddly kind—and listened to him scream when the anesthesiologist* gave him a shot in his arm.
He was piiiiiiissed. “That shot went all the way through my arm!!!” he screamed as tears rolled down his face.
Good news: In a matter of minutes, Jack’s head lolled forward, then backward, and he was out like a light. Bad news: Jack will never trust me again.
At this point, I was kicked out to the lobby, where I pretended to read, but actually fell asleep. True story: if I’m not about to cry, just finished crying, or mid-act of crying, I’m probably napping in an inappropriate place. I clearly have stress-management issues.
Two hours and four crowns later, they came to get me as Jack was waking up. Happily, Jack’s reemergence into consciousness was pretty easy except for the fact that he would randomly jolt wide awake and scream, “Why can’t I have some water?! The toothpaste tastes terrible!”
Also, no one tell Jack that he has crowns on his teeth, because he is adamantly against them. Trust me on this one.
After a half hour, they wheeled him out to my car, which was approximately eleventy billion degrees inside after sitting in the sun all day. The anesthesiologist* had told me that the after-effects would be kind of as if he had had a couple of beers. I would like to report that it was, in fact, nothing like that.
Jack’s reaction to the sedation was actually to sleep all the way home, which is fortunate because it was rush hour and I drove home at approximately 12 miles per hour.
I have to hand it to Jack though, because he held off puking until he was at home on my couch.
When I was poking through the little bag they gave us to go home, I found this little gift for Jack, which is evidently some sort of rubber ducky dressed up as a bear.
The rest of Jack’s day was spent watching his brothers, letting me feed him a half a pudding cup, and applauding wildly to So You Think You Can Dance, when we let him hang out with us after his brothers went to bed because we didn’t want him to stop breathing in another room. Then he fell off the couch trying to do a spin move.
He looked worked though. Hours after his procedure, he still looked heavily drugged, and his face started to blotch red. I took a photo, but what you can’t tell from the iPhone photo is that he looked like someone punched him in the face.
At about 10 p.m., Alex and I both turned our backs for about five seconds and when we looked up, he was gone. We had NO idea where he had gone and how he had gotten there so quietly. Turns out he had retreated to his bed. When I went to find him, I found this:
I’m curious to see how Jack does tomorrow. (Also how sore Quinn is, but that is a different post.) Thanks to all of my Twitter and Facebook friends who sent good wishes to us today. We appreciate your love and support!
We do have to go in for a follow-up appointment next week (I predict two and a half hours in the car for a 15-minute appointment), but after that, I steadfastly refuse to set foot in that dentist office for another six months. I’m done with dentists for a while.
* I spelled that word right without the help of spell check for the first time in my life right there. Shut up. It’s been a long day. Allow me my miniature victories.
* And again! I rock the free world!