So I did it…I now have two bleeding holes where those pesky wisdom teeth used to live. It’s difficult to recognize my victory while I examine my cheeks through oxycodone goggles only to notice the resemblance to a chipmunk preparing for a brutal winter (take a moment to sketch this out…it’s amusing). In the past 72 hours I’ve eaten soup, mashed potatoes, pudding, penicillin, and pain killers. Why did I do this again??? Oh yes, because the oral surgeon, A.K.A Torquemada showed me death videos about how the bacteria beneath my wisdom teeth would surely come to kill me in my sleep, or maybe torture me through bone erosion or nerve damage. In my mind the teeth became vicious psychopaths that lived in my mouth waiting until I least suspected to do something disfiguring to me, leaving me to look like the guy wearing the “Edgar Suit” from Men in Black. No thank you, waiter….I’ll have the surgery with a side of bloody gauze ,please.
I arrived at the office right on time, fully prepared with my big girl pants on. I had already convinced myself I would not make a scene. I left my white coat phobia in a closet at home not to disturb me…but he got out. Once the nurse called me back and informed me my husband couldn’t come into the room with me, the level four meltdown commenced. I gave footage of the space shuttle, Challenger, exploding a run for it’s money. Everything in my stomach turned the wrong way, my breath frantically tried to push it’s way out of my lungs, and I found my head bobbing somewhere between my knees. I almost passed out, and am pretty sure the nurses started forming a plan about how to take my shoe laces away. It was BAD. Torquemada even came in and tried to reassure me in the typical way doctors do, but I welcomed him with deaf ears. I Helen Kellered his ass…went deaf, mute, and angry. My poor husband looked like he would die of embarrassment before he could get away and would have been more than willing to cancel the appointment like the doctor eventually suggested after his coercive attempts failed. However, my mother had none of it. She gritted her teeth together and looked deeply into my eyes with a threatening stare. Just like that, I was no longer 25, but 3 years old again, and about to be taken to the bathroom for beating after hiding in the clothes racks at the mall. Somehow she convinced me I was being ridiculous and hysterical to the point I could probably be involuntarily committed. There’s something to the persuasion of mothers, and we never stop needing them…needless to say, I agreed to at least get the gas and decide from there.
So…nitrous oxide is my new favorite. Once Torquemada started gassing me suddenly he wasn’t the infamous Spanish inquisitor at all, but Dr. Logan, my loving oral surgeon. I told him and all the nurses I loved them before laughing as violently as I had cried. I shared stories of my aspirations to be a writer, and complimented them all on their beautiful choices of scrubs. They were my angels! Even when Dr. Logan blew the vain in my hand on his second attempt at my I.V., I smiled and told him to poke me as many times as he liked. I didn’t mind at all. Once he did get th I.V. going, I asked if I was allowed to go to sleep, then I promise, immediately woke up in my car with a mouthful of bloody rags. It was over. I faced my fear!!!
After everything, I’m glad I went through with it. The teeth had to go, but it also made me face my primal fear. I don’t think I’ll ever jump up and down over seeing the doctor, but maybe next time I can avoid an incident comparable to Hiroshima. I did it…kicking and screaming…but I did it nevertheless!