I had a series of brand new experiences yesterday that I thought I should share with the Popular Irony audience. After dealing with it for years without any trouble, and having perfect dental checkups for years, I had my one and only wisdom tooth surgically removed after noticing a hole in it that quickly grew until a piece broke off. All other teeth are in good condition, and I guess I should consider myself lucky for many reasons since I was only born with one wisdom tooth to begin with, and because although it was virtually inaccessible to my toothbrush I was able to avoid any problems with it until recently. Many of my friends and family have gruesome stories of impacted teeth and the painful horror of the surgical aftermath, but I got through it with just a simple extraction.
But I would like to officially complain about the name "wisdom tooth". What is wise about extra teeth that virtually always need to be removed to prevent life-threatening infection and excruciating pain? A big reason that life expectancy has increased so much in the last couple of centuries is due to advances in tooth extraction, and impacted wisdom teeth were frequently a fatal diagnosis until modern medicine. And since I only had one, what are the implications there? Am I considered to be only 25% as wise as most people? And now that I had it removed am I essentially just a common retard now? Some of my closest friends would say yes. But they are assholes.
The entire process was a greater pain in the ass than it was in the jaw, and that is not a dentist molestation joke. I am pretty sure I am unattractive enough to avoid any anesthesia hanky-panky, but then again I am not sure it would be entirely unwelcome. I'll take what I can get these days. But my brain has been torturing about this process since I decided to have the tooth removed, keeping my already minimal sleep patterns down to under four hours nightly. And it only got worse when I got to the doctor's office when I had to wait for two hours while rudely making sure everyone in the waiting room understood I was not interested in small talk. Then it was my turn.
The doc seemed like a nice enough guy until he made me sign the liability waiver where they explain in detail just how bad the procedure could be, from accidentally breaking your other teeth, to puncturing your sinus and causing a potentially fatal brain abscess. Then I got to appreciate a whole new aspect of being a fatass, the subtle game of "pin the tail on the donkey" that the doctor had to play in order to find a vein in my arms. I got to enjoy five attempts before a successful IV was in place. But once he had it in I felt fine. He said it was the valium.
Next thing I remember was the familiar sensation of a man's hands in my mouth, and everything was over. I felt like I took a punch to the face, but was otherwise alert and feeling well. Now I will get to enjoy my upcoming european vacation without worrying about the ticking time bomb of infection in my mouth, and I get vicodin to boot! But just to show you the level of dedication I have to this blog, I asked to keep the tooth for documentation purposes. Enjoy this image and try to imagine just how disgusting I must be for this to have come out of my head.
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