...teeth. Alongside my brother, Dan, who's 16 months younger than I. At 8:30 this morning I was put on laughing gas, and made a point of not laughing just because I can. I'm one of those "mind over matter" guys, who doesn't like the idea that what my body does is beyond my control, even though I know it is, so I like to futiley fight those sorts of things. Another word for that is "moron". When he gave me the IV, I kept doing complicated math problems in my head (2500-1321 =....(thinking)....1179! ), trying to see how long I could keep my stream of conscious going and stay awake. The doctor was like "hmmm...you should be getting a bit sleepy now..." and i just shrugged my shoulders innocently. Then he injected something into my wrist, and that was the end of my mental rebellion haha. By contrast, my they told my brother as they injected him to take 5 deep breaths, after which he planned to say "Nighty Night!", and he never got the chance.
When I woke up on a cot, I felt really woozy for about a minute, but soon felt well enough to sit up and eventually walk over to the chair next to Dan's cot. He was acting like "David After Dentist". He alternated between shuddering and crying and both, and I felt bad for him because he really looked like he was having a rough go of things. After like 5 minutes he got better though, and we were able to maintain an amiable if garbled conversation. The rest of my afternoon has, and will be, full of gauze pads (causing us to sing "I am a Walrus), Vicadin (causing us to say "It's medication time" in our best One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest accent), and jello/applesauce (causing us to spill over ourselves since our bottom lips are still semi-numb). Not fun, but it could be worse.