ANTI-WISDOM TEETH

I am in, what my dentist calls, prime time for wisdom teeth. Which, ironically, means that I HAVE A WISDOM PROBLEM. Yes, I am indeed just the right amount of wise for my age and therefore must have a good portion of it removed. This surgery will bring about the humbling of my attitude, some jaw pain, puffy cheeks, and a drug that will make me feel high during the surgery and promptly forget everything afterwards.

I blame america’s meat industry for my throbbing mouth today. It was Sunday night and there I was, just chewing on some yummy t-bone steak (Something I don’t do unless I know exactly where it came from and the way in which it was manufactured), when suddenly I felt a sharp pain in the very back of my mouth, on the inside of my jaw. I kept chewing, because it was tasty. When my family goes out of town I like to treat myself to something that I spend a lot of time cooking. I marinated the steak all night, seasoned it just before grilling, and made Roquefort sauce to drizzle over the top when finished. It was perfection.

First bite, tear.

The thin layer of gum covering my top right wisdom tooth tore back to reveal a young and quite angry chunk of white enamel. This tooth had a mission to destroy my enjoyment of this 12 dollar steak and I wasn’t about to let it happen. I finished my perfect meal and went to bed.

The next morning I felt the pain. I opened my mouth to brush my teeth and realized that I couldn’t open it even an inch to allow the toothbrush full access to my teeth. My entire jaw, face, and neck throbbed with pain.

I ignored it. I ignored it for two whole days, until I got so hungry that I felt I must mention it to my grandmother who promptly made me a dentist appointment. As I was waiting in the lounge, skimming through an IKEA catalogue, I thought about the first time I ever had a serious dental procedure.

I was 6 years old and my dentist, who we later found to be a total quack, told me, despite my assurance that I was in a great deal of pain, that I had nothing to worry about. “Your teeth are beautiful and strong,” he told me, the lying prick. My mother and I had a long conversation about the pain in my teeth and she decided to schedule me an appointment with another dentist out in Savoy. He counted 8 cavaties right off the bat: “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, … 6, 7, …. And 8, You’ve got 8 cavaties my dear! Care to describe, in detail, just how much candy you’ve eaten since your last dentist appointment? Do you brush your teeth any more than once a week? Have you ever brushed your teeth?” Then he looked a my mother. He gave her a look that said a lot more than the onslaught of questions he had just thrown at me, it said, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself… letting a six year old child ruin her teeth like this. Tsk tsk tsk.”

I’m sure my mother explained to him the whole ordeal with my other dentist because then quickly arranged for me to get fillings and sealants on a good portion of my teeth. This was going to take 12-14 hours total and they were only going to split it up between two days.

Day 1: I sat in the chair, pumped with laughing gas, and tried to suppress my giggles as the “tickly” tools, like knives, pliers, and clamps mutilated my mouth.

Day 2: Not enough laughing gas. I begged them to stop as they pried, pulled, sliced, drilled, and filled. Or at least… I thought I was asking them to stop. I was under serious influences… my head felt light and my father said it was the closest thing I was ever going to be to getting drunk until AFTER I was 21. He made that very clear and then laughed. It was the most pain I can ever remember experiencing. The bones in my face felt like they were getting ready to explode and the holes in my teeth were rattling my brain to the point that I could no longer see straight.

I’m shaken from my reverie because I realize that I’m about to be encountered with an even more painful surgery, one in which surgeons in white scrubs will slice away at my gums, pry at my jaw, and yank out my young wisdom teeth. I will be under some sort of local anesthesia, enough to make me “forget” most of the procedure and still be conscious enough to obey commands and adjustments.

So next Friday, the day after my birthday, I’m going to “get high” with a few oral surgeons and consciously witness my four most deeply rooted teeth getting yanked out of my mouth. It’ll be fun!

Anyone have any suggestions or stories they’d like to share about getting their wisdom teeth pulled? I kinda like scary/nasty stories… it makes this whole thing seem like more of an adventure!