Nitrous withdrawal
Posted on September 14, 2007
Filed Under kids, parenting, suburban joys, another dread disease, dental disasters, drugs |
Is it possible there is such a thing as a Nitrous Oxide hangover? While the whole procedure went seamlessly (one very afflicted tooth was effortlessly popped free of its tethers and will await the tooth fairy later this evening), there’s been a bit of an after shock. After spending 45 minutes under the mask and issuing pleasantries like, “I feel dry and strong and loooove staring at that x-ray of my teeth. I could do this allll day. Wheeee!!!!,” O is now suffering something that distinctly resembles withdrawal -his sour expression and nasty mutterings, his chubby face all puffy with bloodied gauze. His misery speaks volumes, a sort of silent begging for that kind nurse named Janice to replace the mask of light and happiness.
I feel for O, I really do. There’s nothing worse than spending the morning all tingly and warm and inordinately interested in the Jibbitz on your Crocs only to have the veil lifted. He has returned home with a throbbing hole in face to deal with his bored and slightly hyper sister who has insisted on making a well insulated home for the extracted tooth in her jewelry box, complete with colored tissue and glitter and a few stuffed animal friends, until tooth fairy time. 
And I’m feeling a little ill and uneasy myself. If any of y’all have ever witnessed your child under the influence of twilight anesthesia then you can relate to my feeling that I have spent the morning watching the high-school version of my O enjoy the effects of a thousand whippets or worse and am now responsible for helping him master the effects of excess. Oh help me God, he really, really liked the Nitrous. Adolescence promises to be a rough ride.
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As a teenager, I dislocated my shoulder during a game of football. Seriously dislocated. The doctor gave me a shot of valium before attempting to reset it. Afterwards, I can remember feeling rather euphorically sleepy, if such a state is possible, and my mother kvetching at me. “Ron, stay awake.” Afraid that I’d be lost in a valium overdose (having worked for doctors she was not nearly as sanguine about their judgment about dosages as I felt at the time), she wouldn’t let me slip into what promised to be a deliciously sweet sleep. My euphoria turned to irritation and then anger when I realized she was going to deny me this simple pleasure. At least you allowed the young “O boy!” to ride his little wave of Nitrous pleasure.
i just read both posts.
i know your son was the one who had to endure this, but at least he was under!
how about you?
i bet you were a wreck.
hope you’ve recovered from it all.