so i was always afraid of the dentist since my early days of having those hideous flouride treatments where you had to hold those wax molds in your mouth
i've always been stringent about mouth-hygiene-n-all, but i avoided the dentist during my rambling post-collegiate years. then, at the advanced age of 32, i was convinced by my wife that our new dentist was a swell guy and I should begin regular appointments once again. Well, as it turns out, he was. A swell guy. However, during his first look inside my mouth, he quickly became aghast: I had the full hot order â?? four impacted wisdom teeth.
"these don't give you any problems?" he asked, genuinely perplexed.
"no, sir." I answered
"these need to come out immediately" he said, with a look of concern that actually made me a little concerned.
"well, I'm busy for the next few years, but perhaps..."
"this week" my nice new dentist said sternly.
"gee, um, okay, doc, if you really think I need to."
I made an appointment at an oral surgeon whom my nice new dentist --- who i now hated with a passion --- highly recommended. I got a ride to said appointment, since i was advised i would be in no condition to drive myself home afterward. I arrived wearing my favorite cold-weather beater: my burnt orange down jacket . Unfortunately, the zipper got stuck and, in a waiting room full of people, i was forced to wriggle out of it, kind of like a snake shedding his skin. Things wasn't starting well.
My name was called, I got into the chair, they checked my teeth and got the sleepy-time drugs ready. The oral surgeon came in, looked at me with a unnerving leer and pronounced "now just relax, this is gonna be just like the Sixties" as his assistant cackled.
the next thing i remember is being at home on the floor next to my couch. my shirt was blood stained. A feeling of nausea was foremost in my mind. My mouth seemed very very dry, but I wasn't thirsty. My mouth, in fact, seemed seperate from the rest of body. I had a feeling it was actually sitting on the floor next to me. I called to my wife for assistance several times, but none came. I passed the remainder of the night trying to get back onto the couch, but failing.
the following day, my cheeks were the size of grapefruits. i finally got vertical and went into the bathroom, where I stared at my horrifying visage in the glass and found two prescription bottles. One containing tylenol 3, one containing demerol. I phoned my wife, but she wouldn't take my call. I took several pills because my mouth Hurt.
Later, the phone rang. It was'nt my wife, but the doctor's office, phoning to see how I was getting on. I told them i didn't feel particularly well. Unwell, in fact. they advised me to rinse my mouth with warm saltwater and take the pills. they also explained that i had woken up during the surgery, not once, but twice and had to be given additional doses of sedative not once, but twice.
finally, my wife returned and began to speak to me in an annoyed tone. she explained that i had made quite a scene during our exit from the oral surgeon's office. I wouldn't leave without my down jacket -- i was quite adamant about it, apparently, to the point of turning over a table which held a large quantity of magazines --- yelling that I couldn't remember where i had my jacket and why won't any of the vile people in this office help me find it? My desperate need to find my jacket apparently prolonged our exit for a considerable length of time. My wife explained that she had been "extremely embarrassed" and that I should be, too.
"I don't remember any of it" I explained.
"I wishI didn't" was her only answer.
after several days, I began to feel better. But I came around to her point of view. It's a view I share to this day. I hope your experience is better than mine.
