Today I had my wisdom teeth extracted. I also had two additional teeth pulled due inability to have them taken care of for several years. So now my wisdom teeth are gone as well as the two farthest back teeth on the left side, top and bottom. I’m told this won’t affect my chewing very much and it won’t affect me cosmetically at all. However, it does kind hurt my pride and I also have a feeling that every time I move my tongue over there and feel the holes, I’m going to get a little bit pissed at my dad again.
You see, my wisdom teeth should have come out when I was twenty. However, since my dad never had his wisdom teeth out, he balked. Just like when I was in tenth grade and I discovered that I needed glasses, since he had never needed them, it wasn’t a possibility that I needed them. I think the empathy gene fairy never visited my dad.
Anyway, when more than one dentist told me that I needed to have them removed, by this time I was twenty-two and still at Purdue, his excuse was “You’re twenty-two, you should pay for it.” The motherfucker claimed me as a dependent on his taxes then had the audacity to tell me that I should pay for my own dental work. With what? The student loans I had to get because he never contributed a dime to my college? So this went on all through my college years. All the while, little did I know, the two non-wisdom teeth got worse and worse.
So why didn’t I ever pay for it? Well, I went from job to job, none of which had even remotely decent insurance, and it was never a financial possibility. I went to the dentist when I had my first job after graduation and they told me that those two teeth in question needed crowns. I asked dad for help and again he balked. Same excuses. They decayed further.
Fast forward to Fall 2010. I finally have a great job, savings, an insurance that doesn’t suck. I’m told that the teeth are so far gone that it’s really in my best interest just to have them out. Sure, he could crown them, but there’s no guarantee it would last very long. And again I was told that my wisdom teeth needed to come out.
So I elected to have a flex spending account through work, specifically to cover the cost of my wisdom teeth and whatever else might happen. This time I was ready.
Let’s skip the consult and all that because no one cares about that anyway. Let’s jump straight to why my surgery took two hours instead of forty-five minutes and why I’m probably going to be in way more pain than normal.
So, as I mentioned, I was having four wisdom teeth and the two farthest back molars on the left side removed. The estimate was forty-five minutes to an hour. I settled into the chair and looked forward to experiencing nitrous oxide. Only…it wasn’t working.
I was told that I’d feel some tingling and then I’d feel light and happy. Nope. Nothing. They told me to breathe deep. Nothing. After getting all of the numbing shots, including the ones that suck in the roof of the mouth, they ask me how I’m doing.
Now let me take a moment to digress and say that I’m a very agreeable dental patient. I’m curious, lucid, and very interested in everything that’s going on. I don’t find, whine, complain, or freak out about things. So getting the numbing shots was no problem. I was smiling, laughing, and making jokes. I was just curious where my high was because I was paying for it.
So I tell them that I’m still not feeling the nitrous. Well, each time I’d mentioned that I wasn’t feeling it, they turned it up. Then they realized that they never put it in my nose properly. Once they did that, I took one inhale and nearly blacked out. I didn’t find the experience to be the least bit enjoyable so I just waived it. Ironically, it ended up causing me more anxiety. So it was decided that I would just take it like a man. I was glad I did too, because it was a nifty experience. (I also saved $75!) (Yes, you read that right, I had six teeth extracted today without being putout and without the benefit of gas)
So they get started, attacking my upper left teeth with various tools. I hear all sorts of nifty clicks, pops, crunches, and such and then a twinge of pain. I cautiously raise my left hand so as not to frighten or bum anyone and they add a little more lidocaine then proceed. (It should be noted that every time I go to the dentist, I *always* require an extra shot before I’m completely numb) I’m highly interested and amused by the whole process. I really wanted a mirror to see what was going on as I could only speculate based on the feelings. What I originally thought was the surgeon prying out my filling (Why I thought that, I don’t know) ended up being him wrenching a tool between the two teeth to be extracted to make space.
Anyway, once the first tooth came out I actually cackled evilly. I don’t know why. It was a completely masochistic evil laugh. It was a combination of medical curiosity, admittedly some masochism I guess, and joy at the fact that it didn’t hurt at all and I was closer to being finished. The surgeon commented that it was the most unusual response he’d ever had.
The laughing continued throughout. I was fascinated and amused any time I heard a new sound or felt a new sensation. I simply love new experiences. Each time I felt or heard a nice wrenching pop or click, I laughed a little bit because I felt sort or sense of satisfaction. Kind of like I was the surgeon and I was proud of the progress. I was completely laughing when he started sewing me up. The sutures looked exactly like the sinew that I’d been using to do my leather work recently. For some reason, I didn’t realize that I’d have to be sutured so the image that I saw of the surgeon sewing up things inside my mouth and pulling out the thread just amused the hell out of me.
Anyway, the top left teeth came out fine and, aside from needing another shot, so did the bottom left ones. It was the right side that caused the problems. You see, on the left side, the surgeon was able to remove an extra tooth to make some operation space. On the right, he just had to fish up in there and get two teeth had only come in half way then stopped.
Again, we needed some extra lidocaine, which sucked because it was another roof-of-mouth shot. But the top right tooth just didn’t want to come out. It needed repeated drilling and pulling and scraping and coercing and whatever else it took to get it to come out. Because it was only in halfway, he was having a very difficult time being able to get a decent purchase on it with whatever pliers he used to wrench it free. When I finally came free, I was informed that my sinus was exposed and that it would be several weeks before I’d be allowed to play wind instruments. (NOT HAPPY)
Moving on to the bottom right tooth, this is where the fun began. The fucker just wouldn’t get numb. No matter what he did to it, pain just shot through my body. He put my lido in and nothing happened. At this point he informed me that he simply couldn’t give me anymore lidocaine and he switched to strocain (I think) and benzocaine. Still nothing. He tried several different approaches to getting to the tooth, but they all caused me to jerk my knee. The worst part, due to the position of the tooth, he needed to cut in half to get it out.
My tooth wasn’t fully numbed.
He cut it in half.
Are you following me here?
Before he started to do that, we paused for a discussion. “We can either reschedule and put you out or you can just try to take it.” I said “Fuck it, shoryuken.” He said “What?” I said “Let’s do this.” And then I felt a sensation unlike anything I’d ever previously felt. As he drilled into my tooth, it felt like someone was simultaneously lowering a bed of spikes into my entire body and then it instantly went a way when he stopped. He said “Your nerve is exposed. This will hurt.” and then he put the local directly into my nerve. For about three seconds my body screamed. All I could think was “Dear Nature, I get that teeth are important and you make it hurt when people fuck with them so, you know, we don’t fuck with them, but please cut me some slack.” I daresay those few seconds before the anesthetic kicked in was the most pain I’d felt in my entire life. After that, it was a breeze. I was exhausted though. I still am.
By the time I left the surgeon’s office, the lidocaine was starting to wear off and I was driving rapidly to target to get my drugs. I stopped at Burger King because I told that I had to have a milkshake before taking all the drugs or I might barf. You don’t have to tell me twice to get a milkshake. ^_^ So there I sat in target, a dumb white thing wrapped around my face, in pain, spoon a milkshake that was randomly running all over, blood occasionally getting in the shake or on my shirt, waiting for vicodin. As soon as my scripts were filled, I went to the lunch counter, grabbed some salt, and hit the bathroom.
I rinsed out my holes, put in new gauze, took my meds, and came home. After feeling kind of bad for a while, the pain pretty much vanished. Honestly, right now, I feel great. It’s weird. I don’t know if it’s the vicodin or what, but I don’t really hurt. I also have plenty of energy. I mean shit, I’ve written this whole entry. They told me at surgery that I wouldn’t be able to look at a computer screen for more than five minutes. I certainly felt that way on the drive home, but I feel great now. Anyway, let’s hope this bleeding clears up soon. The worst part is that I’m not supposed to blow my nose for two weeks. That’s gonna be rough. :/
Oh well! I’m currently accepting donations of milkshakes, soups, cuddles, twenty dollar bills, and handjobs. I’ll be laid up all weekend, please keep my company.
—- Edit —-
For the record, I guarantee that if my dad reads this, he’ll deny having said any of these things. Just like he denies having said or done anything that’s caused any kind of lasting frustration. The worst part? If you get it in writing then he’ll simply say “Well, my circumstances have changed.” I’ve still never forgiven him for telling me flat out to my face in junior high “Oh no, you mom and I aren’t even considering getting a divorce.” Then two weeks later…yeah, of course you don’t remember that.
————-
Leave Your Mark