This Side of Wisdom
Well, as of yesterday morning, I’ve officially lost the battle. Fortunately, I am a survivor in recovery as opposed to being a casualty of war, for I have lost my wisdom teeth and am here to expostulate about it.
You see, I developed a theory at a very young age that there must be some logical purpose for wisdom teeth. I believe that in ancient times, with people not being able to preserve and care for their teeth, God gave them a backup plan in the form of wisdom teeth. And for as many times as I’ve had to have fillings over the years, I went against the advice of my dentist and have fought for the past decade to save them. After all, you never know when you’ll need another tooth. But when my upper wisdom tooth started giving me problems again this past spring in the middle of a school semester, I began to re-evaluate my theory. The extraction of wisdom teeth requires one to be out of commission for extended periods of time, which does not work well with attending class regularly. So I resolved that I would give in and have them all taken out. Yesterday was the day for the bottom two.
Now I remember the horror stories of my sisters, Sara and Jolene, and their wisdom teeth. Unlike mine, which are through already, they both had to have theirs cut out. The memory of Sara fainting has traumatized me all these years, however, and Jolene’s more recent tale of waking up crying her eyes out did nothing for my disposition. Both of them have described in graphic detail how terrible the experience was.
So I took two days off work in honor of the Deed. I dressed in black and made my way to the dentist’s office. Now I love my dentist. He is the silent type, which I appreciate very much. Sometime in between Sara’s wisdom teeth and mine, he has discontinued his wisdom teeth service and refers his patients to an oral surgeon. He did, however, make an exception for me…I think maybe because my teeth were through already, thanks to my decade-long fight. While I was grateful for him consenting to take out a poor beggar’s teeth, I had to deal with this irrational fear that he would get halfway through then say “sorry, I can’t do it after all,” then quit.
Dr. T’s assistant Sheryl is also just the best. She showed me my panoramic x-ray while we were settling down in preparation for the deed. “Hmm,” she said. “Look how that one curves out.” What? Sure enough. The root of the tooth on the left side was not just straight down—it curved rather noticeably. It was at this point that I began to feel wobbly. But I didn’t say anything. She asked me if I wanted laughing gas. I said no; I wanted to in full control of my faculties at all times. I wanted no cause for unwarranted bursting into tears like Jolene did.
It wasn’t long before I found myself on the receiving end of the dreaded shot. Normally, I can handle it alright and I just steel myself for it. But this time, however, it seemed especially bad. Maybe because he was numbing two different sides of my mouth. When he stuck the left side, I knew I was going to be in for a long time of it. Pain shot up to my ear and down to my jaw bone. I felt myself begin to hyperventilate. I turned all hot, and I could feel my heart beating extremely fast...which is atypical for me. About that time, I remembered one of our patients who recently went into anaphylactic shock when she had her teeth extracted; she ended up brain dead and then died shortly thereafter. So I quickly reminded God that He wasn’t quite finished with me here on this earth yet and went back to concentrating on breathing.
The Extraction of Tooth One began. I could feel minor things grating and tugging, and it was more of a thing of just being weary of it all than it was a thing of pain. Finally, Sheryl announced that Tooth One was out. Thank God! Now on to Tooth Two… the one with the curved root. Oh, but I was dreading this one. The routine began again. I knew I was in trouble when Dr. T said, “I’m going to have to break the corner of the tooth off.” Yikes! So he gets this little saw or drill out. It felt like a miniature saw that one would use to cut a tree down. I cannot even describe how terrible that was. I could feel it, and it was painful! I jerked and jerked in my chair, all the while reminding myself that at least I lived in this glorious day and age of anesthesia.
Finally, mercifully, he was done. He asked me if I had felt that, and I said, “UH HUH!” So he pumped in some more anesthesia and let me sit up to rinse out all the tooth grit that had come from the sawing. I sat up. The first thing I saw was bloody Tooth One lying there on the tray. It was at this point that I actually gave thought to the glorious possibility of passing out. It didn’t happen though, and I was soon back into my former position. Then the tugging and grating and cutting and chipping and clipping began in earnest. I thought I could not possibly bear anymore of it. My nerves were absolutely shot (pardon the pun), and I began to regret not taking the option of the gas.
When Dr. T announced that it was out, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t given up halfway through and left me a little nub in there. Sheryl told me to make sure I didn’t spit, that I didn’t suck on straws, and to not take up smoking. I was extremely grateful for the advice (I wanted to spit immediately, I love straws, and after that ordeal, I just may have decided smoking was something I wanted to try to calm my nerves). Boy, was I wobbly! I tried to tell Dr. T thank you, but the best I could manage was “Fankeww.” I was quite shaky when I made my way up to the counter to pay the bill for my surgical extractions, my mouth all stuffed full of gauze.
I got to the car before I started gagging. The gauze was too thick, and there was just no way I could keep from retching with it rubbing my tongue and stuff. So out it came. I drove myself home and stopped in at Mom’s because I wanted her to get the prescription for my antibiotics filled (to prevent dry socket, Dr. T said). There was no way I was going to stand in line at the pharmacy with cheeks resembling those of chipmunks, so Mom said she would go fill it for me.
I went home then and for some weird reason, I would get these urges to sing little phrases of songs. I think maybe just to see if I still could. I didn’t realize I was doing it right away, but once I realized it, I stopped. Mom brought my meds back, but there was no way I could take any. My mouth was completely numb, and I could hardly swallow water, much less a pill. I was afraid the pill would either get hung up in one of my gaping tooth holes or that I would just choke on it. I had come too far to lose it on a pill now. So I messed around on the computer for a while, trying to find some of my textbooks on eBay.
I found some I was interested in, then I set a timer for just before the auctions ended, then went to bed. I would wake up in time to win my auction, then back to bed I’d go. Jolene woke me up a little later to make sure I was still living (thank you, Jolene). The anesthesia had worn off, and it was time for a pain pill. I gagged my pills down, then back to bed I went. It was amazing. That pain pill knocked me out until 6:00 that night.
You see, I developed a theory at a very young age that there must be some logical purpose for wisdom teeth. I believe that in ancient times, with people not being able to preserve and care for their teeth, God gave them a backup plan in the form of wisdom teeth. And for as many times as I’ve had to have fillings over the years, I went against the advice of my dentist and have fought for the past decade to save them. After all, you never know when you’ll need another tooth. But when my upper wisdom tooth started giving me problems again this past spring in the middle of a school semester, I began to re-evaluate my theory. The extraction of wisdom teeth requires one to be out of commission for extended periods of time, which does not work well with attending class regularly. So I resolved that I would give in and have them all taken out. Yesterday was the day for the bottom two.
Now I remember the horror stories of my sisters, Sara and Jolene, and their wisdom teeth. Unlike mine, which are through already, they both had to have theirs cut out. The memory of Sara fainting has traumatized me all these years, however, and Jolene’s more recent tale of waking up crying her eyes out did nothing for my disposition. Both of them have described in graphic detail how terrible the experience was.
So I took two days off work in honor of the Deed. I dressed in black and made my way to the dentist’s office. Now I love my dentist. He is the silent type, which I appreciate very much. Sometime in between Sara’s wisdom teeth and mine, he has discontinued his wisdom teeth service and refers his patients to an oral surgeon. He did, however, make an exception for me…I think maybe because my teeth were through already, thanks to my decade-long fight. While I was grateful for him consenting to take out a poor beggar’s teeth, I had to deal with this irrational fear that he would get halfway through then say “sorry, I can’t do it after all,” then quit.
Dr. T’s assistant Sheryl is also just the best. She showed me my panoramic x-ray while we were settling down in preparation for the deed. “Hmm,” she said. “Look how that one curves out.” What? Sure enough. The root of the tooth on the left side was not just straight down—it curved rather noticeably. It was at this point that I began to feel wobbly. But I didn’t say anything. She asked me if I wanted laughing gas. I said no; I wanted to in full control of my faculties at all times. I wanted no cause for unwarranted bursting into tears like Jolene did.
It wasn’t long before I found myself on the receiving end of the dreaded shot. Normally, I can handle it alright and I just steel myself for it. But this time, however, it seemed especially bad. Maybe because he was numbing two different sides of my mouth. When he stuck the left side, I knew I was going to be in for a long time of it. Pain shot up to my ear and down to my jaw bone. I felt myself begin to hyperventilate. I turned all hot, and I could feel my heart beating extremely fast...which is atypical for me. About that time, I remembered one of our patients who recently went into anaphylactic shock when she had her teeth extracted; she ended up brain dead and then died shortly thereafter. So I quickly reminded God that He wasn’t quite finished with me here on this earth yet and went back to concentrating on breathing.
The Extraction of Tooth One began. I could feel minor things grating and tugging, and it was more of a thing of just being weary of it all than it was a thing of pain. Finally, Sheryl announced that Tooth One was out. Thank God! Now on to Tooth Two… the one with the curved root. Oh, but I was dreading this one. The routine began again. I knew I was in trouble when Dr. T said, “I’m going to have to break the corner of the tooth off.” Yikes! So he gets this little saw or drill out. It felt like a miniature saw that one would use to cut a tree down. I cannot even describe how terrible that was. I could feel it, and it was painful! I jerked and jerked in my chair, all the while reminding myself that at least I lived in this glorious day and age of anesthesia.
Finally, mercifully, he was done. He asked me if I had felt that, and I said, “UH HUH!” So he pumped in some more anesthesia and let me sit up to rinse out all the tooth grit that had come from the sawing. I sat up. The first thing I saw was bloody Tooth One lying there on the tray. It was at this point that I actually gave thought to the glorious possibility of passing out. It didn’t happen though, and I was soon back into my former position. Then the tugging and grating and cutting and chipping and clipping began in earnest. I thought I could not possibly bear anymore of it. My nerves were absolutely shot (pardon the pun), and I began to regret not taking the option of the gas.
When Dr. T announced that it was out, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t given up halfway through and left me a little nub in there. Sheryl told me to make sure I didn’t spit, that I didn’t suck on straws, and to not take up smoking. I was extremely grateful for the advice (I wanted to spit immediately, I love straws, and after that ordeal, I just may have decided smoking was something I wanted to try to calm my nerves). Boy, was I wobbly! I tried to tell Dr. T thank you, but the best I could manage was “Fankeww.” I was quite shaky when I made my way up to the counter to pay the bill for my surgical extractions, my mouth all stuffed full of gauze.
I got to the car before I started gagging. The gauze was too thick, and there was just no way I could keep from retching with it rubbing my tongue and stuff. So out it came. I drove myself home and stopped in at Mom’s because I wanted her to get the prescription for my antibiotics filled (to prevent dry socket, Dr. T said). There was no way I was going to stand in line at the pharmacy with cheeks resembling those of chipmunks, so Mom said she would go fill it for me.
I went home then and for some weird reason, I would get these urges to sing little phrases of songs. I think maybe just to see if I still could. I didn’t realize I was doing it right away, but once I realized it, I stopped. Mom brought my meds back, but there was no way I could take any. My mouth was completely numb, and I could hardly swallow water, much less a pill. I was afraid the pill would either get hung up in one of my gaping tooth holes or that I would just choke on it. I had come too far to lose it on a pill now. So I messed around on the computer for a while, trying to find some of my textbooks on eBay.
I found some I was interested in, then I set a timer for just before the auctions ended, then went to bed. I would wake up in time to win my auction, then back to bed I’d go. Jolene woke me up a little later to make sure I was still living (thank you, Jolene). The anesthesia had worn off, and it was time for a pain pill. I gagged my pills down, then back to bed I went. It was amazing. That pain pill knocked me out until 6:00 that night.
The left side of my mouth bled for a total of nine hours. Sheryl called me at 4:00 to see how I was doing, and she told me to go back to the thick gauze and actually bite down on it to get it to stop bleeding. Oh. So there was a purpose in the thick gauze. I did, and it finally stopped bleeding about three hours later.
I just hope that this side of wisdom improves… and soon. I’m seeing signs of infection on the left side, so I hope that my antibiotics kick in quickly. Somehow when Dr. T was using the saw on Tooth Two, my tongue got messed up. I now have a canker sore on the left side of my tongue that is roughly 3 cm long by 1 cm high. It has been very successful in keeping me from eating. So that’s one of the few good things that has come out of the whole thing.
posted by Kris at 8/12/2005 10:03:00 PM
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