For three years, I've lived with a broken tooth. Not only does that make me sound like I am capable and willing to withstand more pain than you, it makes me sound like I was just too busy to get it fixed. (Both are true, I assure you.)
But after several nights of the most excruciating pain I think I've ever felt in my life (which came with sweats, elevated heart rate, and no sleep for free), the time had come for the big operation. I was going to have all four wisdom teeth removed. I was neither using those teeth nor their wisdom anyway.
My surgeon gave me three choices: to be knocked out in blissful slumber, to huff laughing gas so that I'd spend the next 8 hours thinking my pain was funny, or to get a local anesthetic. I opted to forgo spending an afternoon foggy-headed or saying funny things that I'd regret, and instead decided to feel something I don't feel every single day:
I went with the local anesthetic, and let me tell you, I was not prepared for what that was like!
I reclined in their impossibly comfortable chair, wearing very unfashionable sunglasses, looking up into a cold light, when the nurse stuck two, long, cherry-flavor-coated swabs all the way to my back teeth, then left me alone for a few minutes. It was in this serene time of reflection that I noted this comfy leather chair had arm restraints as part of the design. Wonder what those are for.
Presently, the nurse came back, this time with the surgeon. He made a remark that I reminded him of a celebrity (and now I can't remember who it was, but it couldn't have been anyone from the CMAE Hall Of Fame), yanked the swabs out of my mouth, and brandished the largest, most comically violent-looking dental syringe.
Four mighty stabs later, my face was about to undergo the most interesting sensation that ever sensationed on my person. The surgeon commended me on not wincing or flinching during the mighty stabbing, and I didn't have the gumption to tell him that I was deliberately trying to prove a point (that is, I am capable of withstanding more pain than him...petty, I know).
Then, the nurse and the surgeon left me alone with my thoughts again. The philosophical musings that I mused during that time would've made Socrates cry. The problems that I solved in my head would have made engineers respect me. I noted that there was some whirring machine in there and I hummed harmonious counterpoint along with it. I believe every one should spend 5 minutes completely alone, on your back, near intimidating surgical equipment at least once in your life. It was the most inspirational and meditative 5 minutes I've spent in a long time. The calm before the storm.
Suddenly, the surgeon appeared in the doorway.
"How's your mouth?" he said with the foreboding glee of a vampire at a blood drive.
The funny thing was, I went to answer him and found out that I couldn't move anything between my neck and my ears! At first, my brain panicked: my entire face had gone offline. But fortunately, my brain switched to relief because I couldn't feel any sensation at all. This was gonna be easy.
That meant when the bell rang and the surgeon pounced upon me like a linebacker at a home team game, I never once felt him crack, yank, or in other ways dismember my bridge work. But I could feel my neck and head being shaken and stretched as my wisdom teeth fought their last valiant fight. For about twenty minutes, he rooted around in there with heavy pieces of farm equipment (I think), keeping real-time track of how many teeth he conquered.
"That's one," he said as he triumphantly plunked it on the tray.
The wrestling continued. I could hear the sounds of the struggle, but felt nothing. I was legitimately having a great time.
"That's two," he said, plunking another.
At this point, a thought crossed my mind that I'm sure crosses everyone's mind at this point in surgery.
"Auntie Em, there's no place like home."
"That's three," this one went quicker than the others.
He braced his elbow against my forehead, his knee against my chest, took a deep breath, a shot of espresso, mumbled something in Latin, and extracted that final wisdom tooth with a mighty, Herculean heave.
He washed his hands as I desperately tried to get the feeling back in mine. Even though my mouth felt nothing, my body must've known (somehow) that it was undergoing some severe trauma. I felt like I just went 100 rounds with Big Bird, yet still, felt no pain. It was awesome. I was out of breath, and still couldn't feel my face or my extremities.
The post-op nurse ran me through the exotic list of medications I would be taking home, she also presented me with a little container with my dearly departed teeth. Then she said: "Any questions?" like it was some big joke.
Well, she mis-over-underestimated my propensity to talk. After making awkward walrus sounds for 10 seconds trying to speak English without any consonants, it occurred to me that my tongue was very mobile.
Twenty years ago, my dear sweet Grammy gifted me with a Charlie McCarthy doll for Christmas, and a book on ventriloquism came with it. Just like a bicycle, once you learn how to ride, you only look silly to people in cars. I began speaking to the nurse using ventriloquist verbalizations, creating consonants with my tongue against my teeth. It sounded a little wonky, but it was surprisingly clear.
I walked back to the car with my dad who drove me. My legs were very wobbly, but I was very happy that I never felt a thing. I sang in the car the whole way home to Keith Whitley, Willie Nelson, and Alan Jackson.
My mom made soft foods for me at home. I soon realized that, in order to not spill, I needed to know where my mouth and lips were. I was quite sloppy for about 4 hours after the surgery until my mouth came back online. Then, elephant-grade ibuprofen 4 times a day kept any pain or suffering far far away.
Recovery was a breeze, just like the surgery. I spent a whole week thanking God for a painless operation and a very speedy recovery.
And now, I have four teeth in a jar than I'm trying to decide what to do with. Any suggestions?
The point of this whole post is to remind you that I am capable, willing, and proven to withstand more pain than you. And I had the time of my life!
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