When I found out I had to get those damn things pulled, I was less than looking forward to it; I just knew it had to be done. I also knew it had to be done ASAP, because the bottom ones were causing cavities in my molars, which was the course of my constant tooth pain.
The first referral my awesome dentist gave me was to a place that couldn’t get me in for a consultation until 6/22 and the actual removal wouldn’t take place until sometime in July. I gladly took the second referral, which happen to work out absolutely fine, despite my oral surgeon looking like a used really unsuccessful used car salesman in his photograph hanging in the lobby.
My appointment was at 2:45 yesterday afternoon, and I had be there at 2:30 to do some preliminary paperwork. I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink all day, so imagine me nervous, scared, and hungry and you’ll get a not too chipper and awkwardly retarded acting Wendy. This would explain me standing up in the lobby, turning around, and announcing to the receptionist that I had to pee. Hey, I did! And there was a very large warning on the paperwork that said to pee before getting knocked out or you would pee yourself. I’m guessing on that last part, but I didn’t want to test that theory.
Soon enough, I was called back to the chair, and I was sure to tell Cindi that I wanted to go to the beach when I was all done. The nurse put me in a chair, took my blood pressure, which was abnormally high (144/92) for me. She assured me that it was probably because I was scared, and I knew it was, but usually I can calm myself down enough to have normal blood pressure. THAT’S HOW SCARED I WAS.
After she explained what would happen, she left me in the chair for ten minutes, which seemed like 29 hours. Then the
used car salesman oral surgeon came in with my x-rays, yelled at me about my cavities (thanks, ass, I know), and then explained the procedure. To be honest, he was very nice and explained everything in detail. I was very pleased with having him shove sharp things in my mouth.
Before I could really argue with him about pulling four teeth out of my mouth, I had a mask over my nose breathing in as much nitrous oxide as I could. It couldn’t have taken much time at all, but in those few minutes, I had a few monitors shoved on my wrists and finger tips, an IV going into my vein, and that last thing I remember was the doctor asking me what I had planned for the summer. And because I’m witty even without laughing gas, I said, “Oh, this is it! I’ve been planning for this all summer…”
And the next thing I remember is sitting in a recovery room and talking to Cindi. My mouth was full of gauze and Cindi pointed out that I’d somehow managed to get blood on the leg of my pants. The gauze was preventing me from talking, and I was so not down with that, so I just remember talking louder. I also remember I was shushed a couple of times by the nurse, because I was apparently talking quite loud. This doesn’t surprise me considering the receptionist told Cindi that I’d probably be acting like a drunk when I came out of the anesthesia. She wasn’t kidding.
The doctor came in to check on me, and there’s a cell phone video going around somewhere with our conversation, which included me shadowboxing from my recovery chair while talking to him. I like to maintain the fact that I was actually 86’ed from the dentist’s office for being to loud and rowdy. This could very well have been the case. They said I wouldn’t actually get to go home until I could walk on my own, but I’m pretty sure I was stumbling like a drunk right on out of there. I do have a bit of experience with that.
We had to go to Walgreen’s to pick up a couple of prescriptions. When the kid behind the pharmacy counter, who is most certainly not a pharmacist, was rude and didn’t say thank you or you’re welcome or even smile, I remember getting a little flagrant with him, and using words like fucker and shithead. I’m certain he deserved it.
I vaguely remember coming home and watching a lot of TV, and having Cindi ask every 20 minutes if I was okay. I iced my cheeks a lot, because I wasn’t in any mood to have swelling today. I think I took about a 30 minute nap, and then headed off to bed, where I attempted to fall to sleep, but ended up not actually hitting the hay until 2:30 or so.
Then, I woke up this morning just fine. I went to McDonald’s for lunch with Cindi and her future-nephew Gavin, and even took a few minutes to climb to the top of the PlayPlace, so he could show me his secret hideout. Right now, my knee caps are more from climbing through a small plastic tube than any pain I feel in my mouth.
My point? And I do have one. If you need your wisdom teeth pulled, DO IT. You get a day off work, four less teeth to brush, and if you’re lucky like me, your oral surgeon sends you home with a pint of Haagen-Daaz, which may become dinner tonight…