Memories of Rap and Heavy Metal Cures

    When I was seventeen years old, I received a card in the mail from the dentist's office.
     The card simply stated that I had an appointment scheduled for 7:30 a.m. on Thursday. I had not scheduled an appointment, and had just been to the dentist for a cleaning a few weeks before, so I asked my dad if he knew anything about it.
      My dad shrugged it off, but that Thursday morning, my dad met me at the office. His being there made me a bit more edgy, since I generally handled my own appointments.
      I took the clipboard and began filling out the forms. The next thing that made me edgy was this form. It was different. I answered the questions and came to "Have you taken any medications today?" and "Have you eaten today?" and started to shake.
      I didn't know what was about to happen, but these were not the standard questions.
     When I completed the form, a male nurse took me to a room with a reclined chair and asked me to sit down.
     When the doctor came in, he told me to open my mouth. I did, and then heard the male nurse say, "Sir, should I get some scrubs for her to wear so we don't get blood on her white sweater?"
      BLOOD?  On my sweater? On my WHITE sweater? It was actually a white cashmere sweater that I had purchased on my last trip to the U.S.  What were they going to do to me?
      The doctor then explained. "Your xrays indicated that your wisdom teeth need to come out. They are facing forwards instead of the correct direction to come through the gums naturally. Also, you simply do not have room for them."
     "Prom is tomorrow..." I stammered... 
     The doctor told me he could wait one week if that would help, but that it needed to be done. 
     Who are we kidding? If I get up from this chair, I will never come back. I am afraid of all things dentist.
      So, I changed into scrubs and sat back down in the chair, accepting my fate.
     Just as I was getting the gas, a man walked in. A man in uniform with a purple and black face. His face was swollen and he looked terrible.
      The doctor jumped up to speak with him, it seemed there was a bit of irritation and then the doctor came back to me. My eyes were bulging. I was terrified.
      The doctor reassured me, "That rarely every happens. It was a complication and the swelling will go down in a few days."
       Military doctors are not always known for bedside manner or compassion.
       That afternoon, my dad took me home, told me to stay in HIS chair. He said if I sit still, I would not have as much swelling. He said he would put my CD's in and he would change my gauze as needed.
      My dad did just that. He put six of my CD's in his player and hit random. My poor father listened to heavy metal, rap and whatever else all night long. My father brought me drinks and changed my gauze. He kept ice packs on me also. He did all of this without complaining, rolling his eyes or telling me how talentless the youth of the day were.
      The next morning, when I went to the bathroom, I looked at my face and began crying. I was already swollen...on one side. It was the day of prom and I looked like some sort of lop sided pumpkin.
     That night, my mom helped me into my dress, helped me with my make up and ensured that my pain pills were in my purse.
     Yeah, a week later would not have helped anyways. One week later was my graduation. On graduation day, I had a lovely bruise on one cheek, but most of the swelling was gone.
     Needless to say, there are no prom pictures of me that year.
     I called my dad tonight to remind him of this. He does not remember. Apparently, the stroke claimed that also...
    It doesn't matter. I called him to talk to him about it because I know, that if he thought sitting up with me all night listening to Beastie Boys, Run DMC, Metallica, Kiss and whatever else would help, that he would do it now.
     I know my dad still worries about me. I know he still wants to make it better. I also know that this is awful for him to watch.
      I know because my children will never be grown up enough for me not to worry and care.
      I wish I could give him that feeling again... That feeling that he was suffering for a reason, that the swelling would go down and all of this would just be an odd memory...