The next line should go something like "But I 'know' the 'drill'", but I don't actually. I am not one who has had to make any sort of visits to my dentist to have things drilled out of my teeth. I go in twice a year for a cleaning. Something at which I roll my eyes to. The only things I've ever heard them say is "Looking great! Floss more often, and think about removing those wisdom teeth." I am on good terms with the dentist, I suppose. I sit there and tolerate them telling me things I already know, while they poke around in my mouth with latex covered hands and pointy metal implements.
blech How I hate people poking around in my mouth. It gives me the creeps, and I think I could do without that.
But last Tuesday morning I went in for a consultation to go about having my wisdom teeth removed. The prior weekend one of them decided to give me grief, causing my gums and cheek to swell and preventing me from eating solid food or really opening my mouth at all. I was living on Advil. By the time I got into the appointment my mouth had calmed down and I was finally able to eat more solid foods. But as soon as I opened my mouth for the Dr. I knew what was coming.
"Yeah, those need to come out." I left the office with 2 prescriptions to control infection (If he didn't like the look of my gums then he would have been terrified by them just a few days before) and two days between me and oral surgery. I heaved a great sigh and then plotted out the delicious meals that I could eat before losing the ability to chew for who knew how long.
Many of my friends have had their wisdom teeth out, and nearly all of them have had varying experiences. From staying in bed all week, unable to do anything, to going to dance class the night of (albeit a little loopy), to not having any side effects save chipmunk cheeks, to having their face swell and the newly empty sockets becoming uncomfortably infected. So, to be honest, I had no idea what to expect.
Friday morning arrived. I downed two horse-sized pills that did not feel comfy in my empty stomach and within the hour found myself patiently awaiting my teeth to be ripped out of my mouth. Yay.
Finally, they lead me to a funny smelling room with a sketchy looking dental torture chair in the middle of floor. The friendly woman sat me down, asking how I was while placing sensors on my ankles, thumb, and wrist. Through the open door I could peer across the hallway where there was a man partially hidden behind a curtain, bloody gauze in his hand, frustrated attendant by his side, wits not totally about him. Well, that's comforting... I thought :/ Finally the doctor came in, asked a few more questions, briefing me once more on the procedure. A mask was placed over my nose, sending oxygen up my surprised nostrils. They strapped my right arm to the chair to ensure my hand with the thumb sensor didn't go any where, and sprayed some freezing liquid on my left arm, numbing it for the injection of anesthesia. I became aware of two hands, one on either side of my head, blocking my peripherals, and felt like a horse with blinders. Did they think I was about to freak out? Did they not see my ears? My nose with a metal stud in it? I have no problem with needles, and was ready to just pass out and take a nap. It was weird, and annoying.
Finally, the ceiling started doing funny things and I must have looked a little amused because the doctor commented on the effects that should be taking place right about now....and that was it. I was gone. Can't say I felt a thing. Next thing I knew I was sitting in the back recovery room, not able to remember the trip from chair to hallway, mind coming quicker to consciousness than body. (an irritating phenomenon when you wish to simply leave)
And so, unable to feel my face, I left the building. Onwards to pick up drugs and starbucks :) As it turned out, I never felt any pain, (not because I was taking painkillers, on the contrary, I've slacked a bit in that area. They make me a zombie during the day, and unable to sleep at night) but much annoyance has occurred over not being able to chew real food. Living on a liquid diet with everything seeming to be dairy based is not enjoyable for an Italian who enjoys eating hearty, home cooked meals...
So, here I am. After nearly 3 weeks of not eating food, nearly 4 days of having less teeth, and nearly finished with popping pills, I am just peachy. Happy that I wasn't bed ridden for a week. Happy that I was up and running just a few hours after the procedure, even though I resembled a drugged up zombie. And happy that my little bro called me from school just to see how I was doing :)
...Not to say that I would willingly go through that again....
