I got up bright and early this morning, put on my full face of makeup, did my hair, wore my most comfortable pear of jeans and a comforting sweater, had a last cigarette, and headed out to get my wisdom teeth pulled at 8.
I was uncertain of the building, I’ve driven by it hundreds of times en route to Great Lakes mall – it’s a big 70’s monster of a building, so I had little hope of what the offices looked like. I was pleasantly surprised: the office was furnished like a living room from the early 90’s – a little dated, but very comfortable. All of the nurses were very friendly, very helpful, very gentle. And I loved my doctor, the same one who I was worried about having him stick his fingers in my mouth when I had never met him. He shook my hand, talked me through the procedure and answered all my questions…he even called at 8:00 tonight at my house and asked how I was doing. If you live in greater Cleveland, shoot me an email, and I’ll give you his name – he was great.
I had weenied out of getting my wisdom teeth pulled for years. I’d had four of my teeth pulled when I was nine, and I just remember the experience being painful and annoying. I just wasn’t ready to go through it again. But I also couldn’t take the possibility of intermittent pain to not have the teeth taken out. The fact that I’d been through a surgery and recovery earlier this year also played a major role in finally making the decision and to not be nervous.
Honestly, I like being anesthetized – there is nothing that compares to getting that stoned, that fast, and for it to be legal. The only bummer is that it tends to be an expensive way to get high, and I don’t do drugs otherwise. But there’s something awesome feeling the whoosh that goes over you before you get knocked out. I remember the last thing I said before I got knocked out was, “You guys don’t use nitrous anymore?”
Both times I was anesthetized this year, I had some fucked-up dreams – nothing I remember specifically, just that they were weird things to be dreaming about. Like fever dreams. I did feel some pain, and I do remember making noises to that effect, but it wasn’t like the last time that I was put under in that not only did I feel the pain as my teeth were being pulled out, I was dreaming that I was standing on my own tongue watching as they pulled them out. I won’t forget that dream for as long as I live.
I was freezing when I came out of anesthesia, which is typical for me. The nurse and my mom wrapped a blanket around me and talked about the aftercare, and I slept the whole ride home. I was lucky that I slept for about two hours with ice on my jaw, so the swelling was minimal. I spent most of the day sleeping, which was so nice. Getting the hang of eating sucked, but I think I’ve mastered it and I should be back to French fries and steak in no time.