In the grand scheme of a perfect world, I would have posted yesterday, it being my own personal New Year (read: birthday) and all.
Unfortunately, yesterday was spent in the evil arms of a dentist’s chair, having my long-overdue wisdom teeth removed.
I had been procrastinating this landmark event since my early twenties, and the fates finally decided that enough was enough. I woke up Thursday morning with a little bit of a twinge, and by Thursday evening I was curled into a fetal position, crying because the side of my face was being repeatedly stabbed with a hot poker.
I caved in Friday morning and called every dentist in town until I found one that could see me that afternoon.
I’m glad I did and wish I hadn’t, in fairly equal measure.
As if it weren’t enough that I had to have them out immediately if not sooner, and had to sacrifice half our house payment for the pleasure, apparently the top right tooth gave the very sweet, overly concerned, dentist a giant middle finger. I was swollen before he had even finished the second extraction, and this morning I woke up strongly resembling half a gerbil.
The left side isn’t swollen even a little. The right side is so puffy I can’t open my mouth.
Which I guess really isn’t an issue, since I can’t chew, so opening my mouth is entirely unnecessary for a few more days.
To add insult to injury, I’m sensitive to the narcotics they gave me, so unless I take them very carefully and precisely, with enough food (that I can’t chew) and with zero movement afterward, I puke excessively. That doesn’t only suck for the obvious reasons, but it also tugs at the stitches (because of course I had to have stitches), and makes the tender, cut-up skin in my mouth burn like a motherfucker.
I’m sure this process could have sucked more, but I’m not sure how. I’m also that obnoxious dental patient who, up until yesterday, had never had anything done tooth-wise beyond regular cleanings and a lone, tiny filling. That poor dentist looked at my x-rays and cringed. Because there’s no way to prepare a sheltered, pampered mouth like mine for things like injections in the roof of my mouth. Much less the lovely crunching sound that a fragmented tooth makes when it’s being gripped by 11″ long needle-nose pliers.
I was in shock by the time it was all said and done. Actual, white-faced, hands shaking, wobbly-kneed shock. I nearly passed out when I looked down at my little paper bib and saw blood splatter. I don’t think I spoke for close to two hours afterward. Writing about it now makes my knees wobble all over again – no mean feat, given that I haven’t stood up in more than three hours.
So to make a long story short(ish), I’m miserable today. I was miserable all night last night, and I’m anticipating more misery tomorrow with not-so-bated breath. I’m clock-watching to determine when I have to start eating again in order to be done eating in time to take my painkillers, and then clock-watching again to determine when I can take the ibuprofen in between the painkillers as a buffer to keep from experiencing the full extent of this beautiful experience.
I have a whole new sympathy and appreciation for those poor people who spend their entire lives in a dentist’s chair. I was blessed with very good teeth (unless you count this one poor crooked one in front) and am hoping that, at my follow-up visit in two weeks, he’s going to tell me that all’s well that ends well and I can go back to my routine cleanings and pretending that I’ve never been through anything at all like this.
I’m out, kitties. I’m going back to being pathetic and pitiful on my corner of the couch. Maybe, by this time next week, I’ll be back to eating birthday cake and snarking at unsuspecting bystanders.