The Basketball Head Diaries

You wouldn't think the human face could balloon to such size. Self-inflicted stupidity and pain. 10 out of 10 on the pain scale, and it was just the beginning.

They say confession is good for the soul. Even if it proves you are in the dumbest 1 percentile on the planet. The following is something I couldn’t admit to another soul for 20 years. Ever wake up in the morning to discover half of your head is as big as a basketball? Not pleasant. Yet, the unpleasantries are just beginning. ***Achtung: do not read this if you are eating, about to, or just finished. When I looked in the mirror, I knew exactly what the problem was. Wisdom teeth removal 2 weeks  previous, and the reason for my giant head was 100% self inflicted. I knew exactly why this happened. The incision had been closed for two weeks, well on it’s way to being healed, but we’re talking about a kid who put his finger under Mom’s electric sewing machine needle and pushed the gas pedal, just to see what would happen. What happens? It punches through the nail and entire finger, and then bounces up and down until you take your foot off the gas pedal. Therefore, there was no way I wasn’t going to start pushing and prodding on the enormous lump growing out of my jaw. One gently prod, nothing, a push, nothing. 

For some added torque, I pushed my elbow against the wall and really leaned into the final push. It was only then the dam burst. Sounding more like a super soaker water gun, whooshing, squirting pus all but filled up my mouth, half agape. Dribbling out the side, and down my throat, it finally hit me. The stank, that is. The taste. Ahh, the smell. As I started dry heaving over the sink, the weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth drew the attention of my Mom and brothers. As they rounded the corner, they all froze. “What the hell is that smell?” Before I could explain, they all scurried in various directions and got the hell out of there. From a safe stand-off distance, my Mom began her inquiries. I couldn’t respond, trying to keep myself from going full-on Exorcist style projectile puke. My little brother, aka Cambodian, had witnessed the basketball before I went to work on it. “Dude, you popped that thing? I can smell that s**t down here. What are you going to do?”   First rebuking Cambodian, Mom chimed in: “Cambo watch your mouth. Matt what is that smell? What’s wrong? What should we do?”  What was about to come would redefine 10 out of 10 on the pain scale.  All because of my own stupidity. And, a gnar gnar case of the munchies. 

After the surgery, I was home alone that night. Being a professional, fully committed bowler(aka pothead) I seized on my opportunity to roast up that night. A terrible idea. Soon after, I wanted to hit Burger King’s drive thru and order one of everything on the menu. Because I was all lit up on pain pills, my Mom had confiscated my car keys. So, I stared into the fridge, scanning for anything I could eat. I wasn’t supposed to eat anything. For very good reasons. Obvious reasons. There was nothing. Nein, nyet, nope. Out loud I said to myself, “Ahh f**k it, what’s the worst that could happen.”  I abandoned the “stuff I can eat” idea, and went for anything that sounds good. Now standing before the pantry, hope was fading fast. Then, on the back row, 3 years past it’s expiration date, there it was. Any restraint completely melted away. It  Like angelic choirs combined with a bright beam of light from the heavens. Bingo. It may as well have been a ribeye and lobster. “The San Francisco Treat” Rice-a-Roni.

I hurried and boiled the water and threw it in. Lest anyone come home and spoil my forbidden feast. I devoured that R a R like a pack of wild hyenas, stuffing it greedily into my pie hole. Num, num, num. Good eats y’all. Tasssty. I quickly destroyed all evidence, cleaned up, and melted back into the couch. There wasn’t anything else on earth more ridiculously stupid I could’ve eaten 4 hours after wisdom tooth surgery. I had my doubts as to the “wisdom” of my decision. I could feel straggler rice grains in and around the wound. I tried to rinse and repeat. 

As a week past, then almost two, I was relieved to have dodged a bullet. “Ha, no solid food, whatever.”  It was the very next morning I woke up and couldn’t believe my eyes. I was about to pay a price I couldn’t have imagined. Not once, 5x! 

The healed incision would have to reopened, and the jawbone scraped thoroughly to remove any lingering infection. But, there’s a problem. Infection changes the Ph in the body, and the doctor was about to break some bad news. “Matt, I could give you 20 lidocaine shots in that area and it’s not really going to numb you much at all. I do think it’s worth literally trying 16-20, but for the most part you’re going to have to hold on for dear life. I’m really sorry. 

The 20 shots from all angles and depths were unpleasant, but the scraping? No words. The laughing gas had me loopy and ready to go, so I thought. But unlike the past, it didn’t minimize the pain much.  Didn’t numb much. As he sliced open the healed over incision, I’d guesstimate the numbing agent was 10% effective. I felt even the slightest touch on my teeth or gums in the area. Each time he steadied himself and dug in hard for the scrape, the noise startled at me first. I focused on some cheesy poster on the wall and tried to imagine myself anywhere but there. I didn’t make a sound, but tears were running down my face from the agony. It felt like hours. He felt awful, and couldn’t stop apologizing. I made no confession as to the cause. As I turned to walk away, he said: “Matt, oh my, I’m terribly sorry. Look at that.”  

There was one single set of claw marks. Gouged deep into the leather chair handles. Gouges that were still there 3 days later for round 2 on the other side. And round 3, and round 4. Finally, I went to an oral surgeon who scolded me for having “that” dentist, or any dentist do my wisdom teeth. “ Dr. ______ isn’t the guy to get anywhere near your wisdom teeth. Listen, I’m gonna knock you out, do this right, and you’ll be done with it. That, I personally guarantee. After today, you’re free and clear.”  And so it was. After the first infection, it had continued for 5-6 weeks. Over and over again. 3x on the right side, 2x on the left. All because of the munchies, the San Francisco treat, and some epic bad judgement. And I paid dearly. Severely. 

The basketball head diaries finally ended 8 weeks after the initial surgery. Unbelievably, my troubles resulting from not following post surgical advice had only begun. The next incident, only because of the photos will you believe it actually happened, hopefully I can post those here. To be honest, I’m not sure if anyone actually sees these stories on here, not sure if this is against protocol or proper decorum here, but if you enjoy any of these stories please recco them to anyone who might like such short stories. Thx. Stay Frosty, Stay Aerodynamic. Me gone.