I know. That’s just such an improper headline. I know.
But my sister Liz showed me the most hilarious little video that had that as the punch line, and now its in my head.
And when I tell you what has happened to me in the past week, you will also feel the need to say that same phrase.
Let’s begin three weeks ago, more or less.
I realized that every now and then, when I sipped my nice hot espresso, my lower left molar would go into a screaming fit of pain. My mouth would fill with saliva and my left cheekbone would start to feel like someone was jamming a hot spike into it.
Now, I am not stupid.
The fourth or fifth time that happened, I realized that I needed to call the dentist. So….a week or so after I realized that I needed to call, I looked up the number.
A few days later, with “call the dentist” at the top of my To Do list, I started to notice the same hot spike feeling if I ate something cold. Or sweet.
So I called.
See? I am not an idiot. I called the dentist and I got an appointment for three weeks later.
This past weekend I went down to Pennsylvania with my sister Liz, who is better than I am at everything. I love her in spite of her awesomeness, and the two of us laughed our way down the highways toward Lewisburg Pa, where we were going to meet our brand new great niece.
On the way, we stopped for coffee.
I was driving. Liz was looking at the map and chatting away. I took a good deep swig of the hot coffee and I felt the entire left side of my head explode.
My left eye watered as I drove. My heart hammered in my chest. My vocal cords made an involuntary “eh-eh-eh” sound.
I needed to have my tooth yanked out. But I kept driving.
After a half hour or so, the pain faded down to a dull roar. All was well. I knew I could make it another week before my appointment.
Liz and I went to Pennsylvania. We met our gorgeous little great niece and we celebrated with her wonderful parents. It was so so sweet! And my jawbone cooperated without having a screaming fit, so I was very happy.
Last night I got home, and unpacked and chatted with Paul. I went off to bed feeling happy and relaxed.
Hahaha. Silly, silly me.
As I went to bed, I popped in the little rubber mouth guard that I’ve been using for the past 5 years. It stops me from grinding my teeth and breaking all my molars. It’s not a big deal.
I fell asleep and had a lovely dream about the new baby.
Then I woke up. It was 3 AM. Something seemed off.
As I came more fully into consciousness, I noticed that the tip of my tongue felt very very strange. It felt like sandpaper. It felt like a bloated balloon. It felt like a big, bloated, sandpapered balloon.
I ran the scratchy balloon across my lower lip.
What. The. Hell.
My lower lip was just wrong.
I got up, fumbling for my phone to give me some light. I stumbled to the bathroom and quietly closed the door so I wouldn’t wake Paul up. I turned on the light, and made my way to the mirror.
Holy horrific images!
There was a face looking back at me. Its eyes were ringed with wrinkled, puffy sacks. Its gray hair was standing up in tufts all over its head. It had a big nose and a HUGE, pendulous, swollen lower lip hanging out over its chin.
It was my scary, creepy Uncle Salvatore staring back at me from my bathroom mirror.
The shriek that came out of that mouth would have roused the dead.
Luckily, I realized that the sound was coming from me, and that the distorted face was the result of some kind of crazy allergic reaction. I pulled out the mouth guard, took a long cold drink of water, and tried to think of what to do.
My mouth was burning, swollen, itchy and numb at the same time. I took a Claritin and some herbal antihistamines. I laid back down in my bed.
I tried to sleep, but my giant lip kept finding its way between my teeth. Finally I dozed and I woke to another day.
I have no idea why my body decided to react to the mouthguard after all these years. I have no idea why my lip turned into a giant raw wound filled with hot coals. I don’t know if any of this is related to the nerve in my lower jaw that definitely needs to be removed as soon as possible.
All I know is that as I stood in front of my bathroom mirror in the middle of the night with my gigantic lip throbbing in pain, all I could think of was the final line of that video Liz shared with me.
“What the absolute f*ck?” could be my motto today.
What am I supposed to do with the world’s biggest lower lip?