As per a previous blog post earlier this week, you all know that I had my wisdom teeth taken out.
To be quite honest, it really wasn't as bad as I hyped it up to be. And that's saying a lot, coming from me, because I'm a pretty big baby when it comes to pain and recovery and all of that jazz. I'm not sure if it's because I truly do have a low threshold for pain, or if it's just because I like to complain and have people dote on me. Honestly, I think it might be the latter, but I'm off on a tangent.
They prescribed me about sixteen dozen pills (well, no, not really, more like three), an antibiotic (which really sucks because we all know how antibiotics kind of cancel the effect of my birth control, so I suppose I'll either have to go with no sex - no way - or just be super careful, because we all know what happened last time!), a high-powered Motrin, and the obligatory opiate-based painkiller. Percocet, to be specific.
I, for one, have never been a big fan of pain pills, because I find they, well, make me want to vomit for two and a half weeks. I had Vicodin prescribed to me a long time ago when I broke my ankle and I had sick about twenty minutes after I took it, so I was never really into taking anything for pain, headache or worse.
Anyway, so I've been taking the Percocet and contrary to other people's opinions and reactions of how drowsy and tired they make them; they, on the other hand, affect me like speed, I swear. I could take these pills and run a marathon. Or at least have the energy to watch someone run a marathon, at any rate.
It's almost like I've drank fifteen shots of espresso, all in one gulp. It's really kind of odd.
The moral of the story: If you have your wisdom teeth pulled, go for the Percocet.
Let me know if it turns you into the most motivated, focused person on the planet.