Alternate Title: When Things Get Gross
After feeling fairly certain that the first oral surgeon I consulted would kill me and hide my body in the break room mini-fridge, the next surgeon I saw was actually a bigwig at a local military hospital who works out of the dentist’s office in my work building one or two evenings a week. He inspired much more confidence. The office itself? Less so.
Mistake Number Two: Good surgeon does not equate competent office.
October of 2013. I decided to have my surgery on the Thursday before Columbus Day weekend so I’d use one less day of PTO. Sadly, my birthday was Columbus Day.
The dentist’s office quoted me a price for the surgery, I got it scheduled, and away we went.
On the day of the surgery, my mom and aunt drove down, and my mom would stay with me for a day or two. Because even though I was turning 27, I was still a giant baby.
THE SURGERY ITSELF (TAKE ONE)
As promised, the true story of the removal of my first three wisdom teeth. Broken down into pieces so I can get them out more easily. Just like the teeth themselves.
August of 2013. After taking an x-ray, my new dentist told me that–contrary to what I’d previously been told–I had wisdom teeth. And they were a mess. “Ratchet,” I believe the kids would say.
Mistake Number One: Not having my wisdom teeth out sooner. When I was a teenager, I had a dentist tell me I actually didn’t have wisdom teeth. When another dentist side-eyed this assertion and tried to send me to an oral surgeon for a better x-ray, I was like, “I don’t wanna!” And my parents said, “…Okay.” (This is also why I never got braces. This is also not a good parenting strategy. THANKS GUYS.)
This allowed my wisdom teeth to grow. To settle in and put down roots.
Roots = bad.
My first consultation was with a surgeon who had extremely hooded eyelids. This concerned me, since I could not see his eyeballs. Also, he seemed to be outright arguing with his nursing staff while I was in the office. Then they heavily pressured me–with lots of huffing and scowling–into paying $400 out-of-pocket for a special x-ray.
The special x-ray machine turned out to be in the break room, so I had my head scanned while surrounded by purses and lunches. Part of the consultation also then took place in the break room, interrupted when one of the nurses came in to tell the surgeon he had a call and to hand him a fistful of change. He proceeded to rant about how much he did not like the person who had called and how he wasn’t going to call them back.
I left feeling almost certain I was going to die.
All right blog, you are evidence why I am definitely not ready to have a child. I created you. I brought you into this world. And after weeks of quasi-enthusiasm and all the good intentions, I abandoned you.
I do not want to be a blog-abandoner, neglectful of this product of mine own creation. Dr. Frankenstein wasn’t all, “IT LIVES! Now I’m gonna’ go to Panera. Laters!”
Since I’m having my very last wisdom tooth out in just over a week (I promise to post while on Percocet), I thought that soon it would be time to tell the the tale of the removal of my first three wisdom teeth. Yes, I did try to have them all out at once. The surgery just went SO POORLY that the surgeon said, “You know what? We just have to stop. The surgery needs to be No Longer Happening Right Now. We’ll go back for that last one.”
The story involves vomiting blood and is not for the faint of heart. Like my wisdom teeth, I’ll break it down into pieces for you. Stay tuned.
Recently, I had my wisdom teeth out. Then things started to get… strange. Naturally, when faced with any kind of medical dilemma, I turn to the open, loving arms of the Internet. However, even the sage guides at Yahoo! Answers couldn’t tell me exactly what a “sinus communication” was. So for posterity, I’ve decided to illustrate it here as I understand it. Come forth, seekers of knowledge. Learn from my trials.