While clearing out my drawers yesterday I came across a ripped and tattered pair of leggings. They were literally torn in half, each leg clinging on for dear life to a flimsy waistband. Completely unwearable. This reminded me of how they came to be in such a sorry state, though why I ever considered keeping the shredded handful of black cloth is beyond me.
I had a wisdom tooth removed at the end of July, having to go under anesthetic at the hospital because it was considered too complicated to be carried out at the dentists. After two days of recovery, which I thought were going quite well despite my constant panic that I would starve to death living on a diet of soup and other liquids, I started to suffer from one of the worst pains I have ever encountered in my life. It turned out I’d developed something called dry socket, a condition which means a blood clot hasn’t formed properly over the incision site. This is especially painful for wisdom teeth removal as they sometimes have to cut into the jaw bone, leaving this completely exposed without the protection of a clot. At the time I was seriously convinced I would die, writhing around on the bed clutching at my jaw as if it had been shot. Honestly though, if you Google ‘dry socket pain’ you will discover that many consider it to be equal to a gun shot wound. I would just fall asleep at night, high on a medley of pain tablets, when I would wake myself up wailing with the agony of it.
The thing I’ve been thinking about though is this – In retrospect, I can not remember the exact feeling of the pain. I can recall the despair of the sleepless nights and the burgeoning desire to punch myself in the face (for some reason it felt like it would help), but I can’t seem to get to grips with how it actually felt. Perhaps its the bodies way of protecting itself and sheltering us from experiences which we’d rather forget, but in retrospect the pain dulls. I am in no doubt that the pain was horrendous and know others who’ve had dry socket who will agree; it’s something only those who have felt can understand. But less than two months down the line my mind is not even able to loosely simulate the feelings of pain, despite the fact that they remain engraved into it as a permanent bad memory.
So back to the ripped leggings. After realizing I had dry socket, thanks to my sympathetic mum who had suffered from it only months before, I made an appointment at the emergency dentists. I couldn’t get to the local one so had a 40 minute journey ahead of me, which had already riled me up. It was a boiling hot day and I was sweating not only from the heat but from the pain, incoherently whining to myself that nothing could be done, how could it? How could anybody possibly help me? I was certainly about to be euthanized, perhaps it was for the best? (At the time I was brimming with despair, I can not be blamed for extreme thoughts and disgusting amounts of self pity). I opened my drawer to grab a pair of leggings to put on and found, upon pulling them up, that they had a small but definitely noticeable hole right on the crotch area. I was absolutely livid. Even my leggings were against me. Here I was in a rush to get dressed so I could be rushed to meet my fate, potentially certain death, and I didn’t even have a decent pair of leggings to wear. In an act of absolute rage I grabbed either side of the hole and pulled with force, ripping the leggings off of my very body. I stood there panting like the hulk, staring at myself in the mirror, the remains of the abused leggings dandling limply from my knees. I think I’d even let out a little growl as I annihilated them. Feeling a little bit better after my display of violence I quietly tucked them back in the drawer like a serial killer hiding the evidence, and slid into a pair of jeans instead.
The emergency dentist filled the hole where my tooth had been with a massive wad of clove-scented packing. It eased the pain considerably after a few hours and the rest of my wardrobe was considered safe from any further attacks. Finding the remains of the leggings hidden in the drawer reminded me of the pain and frustration which had resulted in such sheer anger that I had no choice but to resort to a show of aggression. Next time I hope that I’ll have learned from the past and take a calmer approach, such as finding a needle and thread to simply sew any small innocent holes in clothes up…Though I’m uncertain as to whether I’ll be allowed near any sharp objects after the honestly of this admission.