Saturday, February 5, 2011
I'm happily sedated. I think that's a lyric from a Pink Floyd piece. It's certainly what I'm feeling. Stoned at last.
Now don't get ya shorts in a knot I ain't jumped off the wagon. It's all legal, and medically legit. I just went through some hell raising oral surgery,..oh mama!
First dear Dr. Jeff stabs the hell out'a me with all the longest, and sharpest hypo's in the world. Then him, and young nurse Chapel drills me through the damned floor.
Hours, piles of bloody wads, and a couple of teeth later,..I comes too.
At first I thinks I'm in Heaven or 1964. What with the Beatles playing somewhere in the mists. "Love Me Do", "She Loves You", "Help", and "Paperback Writer"
Dr. Jeff likes having soundtracks to his operations.
Think of all this as a dream sequence in one of them early Michael Jackson video's.
It all starts when I calls up my dearest pals the good Reverend'n Nurse Pickles. This at 3:00am while in a mania of agony. In the middle of my tooth pain delirium from hell I manages beg for help, and guidance. She, and the good Rt. Reverend Martin tells me to come right over.
Comrades this is what friends are all about. They're the only ones in the universe that would put up with this sort of annoying madness,..and do it with loving hearts.
To cut to the chase the Rt. Reverend Martin shepherds me to Dr. Jeff's emporium of dental magic,..and the rest is all blood, gore, and history.
He turns no one away, Dr. Jeff,..despite little money or crappy insurance.
...me on both counts!
Anyway I spent the next 35 years in post-op recovery on the Reverend's couch. This, and being attended hand, and foot by my dearest pals.
Okay not my feet so much as my head.
Oh, but the meds,....been years since I was 'this' stoned.
Part Two of this saga is when my pals come over to Sydney Haus to help me turn my house into a home. Now that might be 'harder' than pulling teeth.