If Drugs Are So Bad, Why Do They Make Them So Darn Good??

This is one of those blogs that the lucid part of me is wondering what the negative repercussions will be following the moment I hit “post”. However, because the lucid part of me is overwhelmingly overshadowed by the ‘drugged up’ me, I don’t even have enough a command of my faculties to fathom or anticipate what those repercussions might be!

Drugs :1   Common Sense: 0

Yesterday I went to the dentist to have my last wisdom tooth pulled. The other three were taken out when I was pregnant with Stone, but the fourth remained because the root was hooked. No dentist would touch it, not even to repair the gaping hole that I could proudly put a tooth pick through in order to fish out days old victuals, like almonds and shrimp. Finally, after I’d have enough with the headaches that this rotting molar was causing, I grew some balls and scheduled to have an oral surgeon eject it.

I was left bitterly disappointed afterward, and that disappointment stemed from the fact that I have no other wisdom teeth to take out. Oh, MOM Squad. What a glorious experience!

I am about to share something with you that Mom Five Times and I have discovered over the last 8 months of so. You see, somewhere inside me – and not so deep inside mind you – is a drug addict waiting to manifest. There is a reason abuse of prescription drugs is that fastest growing segment in society, and it’s simply because they make you feel so good. I mean really gooood. You know what I mean? We have both come to the conclusion that you cannot judge drug addicts so quickly. It’s so easy to get hooked. Fortunately, I have the grace of God and a husband who would badger me back to salvation to keep me from going that rout. I hate the sound of Marshall’s badgering.

So yesterday, as I think I already said, I had my tooth taken out. The dental assistant placed a mask over my nose and told me it was for the laughing gas. I heard and felt a slow stream of gas filter in through the nozzle and into my nostrils.

“Have you had laughing gas before?” she asked me.

“No,” I replied.

“Do you drink?”

“Only when the occasion calls for it…like on Tuesdays and when there is a forecast of sunshine.”

She laughed.

“Well, laughing gas has the same affect. It’s just used to calm you down so we can put in an IV.”

“Oh! My daughter had laughing gas when I took her to the dentist,” I informed her. “Apparently it had her talking about princesses and crayons. She’s five.”

I recalled the loopy grin Aya had on her face, and remember being slightly concerned.

“Well, she doesn’t know what it’s like to be drunk, so that won’t be a frame of reference for her.”

We both chuckled, and I waited. Nothing was happening.

“I don’t know what the big deal is about laughing gas,” I scoffed. “It’s not doing anything and I feel no different.”

“Oh you don’t, huh!” said a new female voice.

A quirky blonde with horned-rimmed glasses walked in with a tray and a sassy attitude. She introduced herself as Jessica.

“Well lemme just crank it up fer ya!”

She pumped her foot against a pedal three times – poof, poof, poof. Suddenly, there was an increase is flow to the nozzle and I felt my eyes and chest get heavy. I melted into the chair. Everyone should start their day with laughing gas – which is not so much as ‘laughing gas’, as it is ‘smiling gas.’ That’s all I could muster in my intoxicated state.

“Gosh,” I said dreamily. “I hope I remember this for the blog.

“You have a blog?” said Jessica.


“In that case my name is NOT Jessica.”

I giggled girlishly.

Not Jessica turned my arm over and began to poke for veins. She asked me tomake a fist. Failing to locate one, she looked at me quizzically.

“Dang girl, do you even have any veins??”

“Uh huh, yes I do,” I said sweetly. “There’s a vein right next to my mole. See it? Every time I get a c-section, that’s where they put it.”

“I don’t see what you’re talking about, but I’m gonna stick ya anyway.”

She found it on the first try. I hardly felt the needle go in my arm. I have a high threshold for pain, and I could have taken the IV without the laughing gas, but why ruin the experience? I took the assistants’ advice and rode the waves of calming, cloudy ecstasy for as long as I could, for suddenly, just as quickly as Not Jessica had taken me up, she brought me right back down.

“You must have turned off the juice,” I said forlornly.

“You’re a smart woman,” she said brightly. “I’ll get the doc and be right back.”

Eventually the doctor came in, mumbling into his iPhone. I imaged he must have been sorting out some mini-crises with his wife (or secret boyfriend) so I forgave him. He didn’t greet or acknowledge me as he began putting stuff into my IV. In a flurry of activity, 2 other assistants joined him in the room. One put a big plastic block in my mouth.

“This is just to keep your mouth open as we perform the surgery,” she said.

“Ukah,” I nodded.

And that was the last thing I remember.

When I woke up, Marshall was hitting me on the leg. A dark haired (and very unattractive) dental hygienist was shaking me on the shoulder. Her hard face startled me into conscious. Ugh.


“It’s time to get up, hun,” she said gruffly.

I stared at her, waiting for the fog to clear. When it did, I wished it hadn’t. She was NOT cute.

“We had to call your husband in to wake you up,” she informed me. “You told me you ‘don’t like the way I wake people up’.”

I laughed in her face.
“No I didn’t!”

Then I realized I probably had. Oh this bush girl that lives inside me! Why must she disgrace me?! It’s so hard to control her when I’m semi-conscious.

I stumbled to the car with Marshall guiding me to the passenger seat.

“How do you feel?” he asked with concern.

“I feel great babe. I feel so, so, so great!”

I reclined my seat and let a drugged smile play about my lips. Everything was so amazing; so wonderful. There was so much LOVE everywhere. You know what I mean?

The love fest continued when my husband filled my prescription for hydrocodone…which I discovered should not be taken while seated in a moving vehicle – particularly if you are operating said vehicle. I had no choice. I had promised a friend I would come and visit her after my surgery was complete. I was so full of LOVE, you see.

Here’s the thing: If the government wants us to stop abusing drugs, they have to work with big pharma to include some sort of deterrent. Jail and fines just aren’t enough. Perhaps genital contortion and growing a fourth nipple as a consequence might suffice. However so long as the side effects of Vicodin and hydrocodone-acetaminophn continue to cause feelings of elation, insatiable sexual desire (leaning on promiscuity), marked drowsiness and general peace with the world and all who dwell within, what’s a poor soul – such as myself – to do? Take another pill, I suppose.

Drugs: 2   Common Sense: 0