Well reader(s?? The thought has entered my mind more than once, believe it or not, how many of you there are), i thought it appropriate to spin another yarn of uselessness to keep you updated about the latest drastic change to yours truly.
It was a day of trial and error for some. For somebody else, significant apertures in his head. Well, "openings" or "gaps" do not do it justice for you see, these are more like gulches, or an African pothole. But, enough of losing the writer and reader to information that can wait. Let me begin by saying i had been praying about this day for over eight months. Hard road. It stunk. But on to the day, Wednesday, February 2nd, 2011.
After a hardy breakfast of approximately 10 or 12 pancakes topped with Natural Jif. i Took a shower knowing full well it was to be my last, with two of my smarter teeth. Today was the day i was to get two [almost] innocent and bright teeth prodded, yanked, towed, and jerked out of my head.
A rainy and grey day to match my mood, i headed off in the car with the dad at the wheel. On arrival, instead of the cliché wood frame around glass as a door, it was solely the wood frame with cardboard. Complete with one of the most hospitable signs a local dentist could offer. Yes, my thoughts exactly, hospitable and this profession never walk hand in hand. In fact they detest each other with so much hatred and malice, they're on opposite poles.
i Barely had walked into the room at 8 AM and learned that another dentist had been hit by a burglar as well, 20 minutes earlier the previous night, when one in white asked me a question that should be kept far away from a place with such worry, anxiety, fretfulness, and [most importantly as you will be sure to be warned about] pressure.
"Theodore? Are you ready?"
That standing alone could make me type for hours about such an absurdity. i Won't bore you, but let me just conclude with a quick thought about it. She had not processed the question before she spoke. As she began saying the words, i noticed she knew she had made a mistake.
Begrudgingly, i plodded after her with the most heavy steps. As i mentioned before, my appointment was in the little pond edge town i live in. Not some urban city with sidewalks and buildings all around. In a town with a town cannon named Thor and a waterfront fit for fishers and their beer. Not some metropolis with oral surgeons with green salad pinned to fans and walls constructing streamers in front of doorways. Needless to say, i was not "going under." i Was not going out like a light, while they pulled and tugged and ripped.
My eyes were in full function. The entire time of trauma and torment.
Why in the world would my parents make me go through with this, and i agree? It's easy. "Don't make us happy, save money!" i Chant for my parents to remind them i'm not their best kid. In this case, it was a strenuous path to follow. Nevertheless, it began.
"We're going to numb you first, then we'll get started." The attractive dark haired girl said. Ah, finally a statement. Whether i agreed or opposed strongly (the latter obviously), it didn't matter for obvious reasons. i Asked one lady if i could sneak in an earphone while they labored and slogged, and the reply was [in all seriousness,.. this time] music to my ears. They told me to get comfortable and fiddle with the magically slim 2nd generation, which was over too quickly. i Had fixed a playlist to last at least a minimum of two hours and thirty minutes. i Had my left earphone set in place and the doctor was up to mischievousness behind my head.
"Open wide for me." These words in a place of such fear and stress just don't quite fit either. They insist on utilizing them with clarity however.
Needles.
Sting.
"You're going to feel a little sting in a second." -Whamslam- Stung-ed. Then, "And this one is going to sting the worst." -Jabbing needle into roof of mouth- First thoughts you ask? How about as politely and censored as possible, "Excuse me but @#$%, i think you missed the @#$%9 gum where the tooth is. @#$%. For, my toofs rest on this red hill see. Not quite in the middle of @#$% my head." Oh well, needles were over. Good...i thought. i Was told to rest my jaw and wait for a few minutes.
Before i knew it, i was asked yet another question. "Are you feeling pretty numb in there?" i Sure hope so ma'am, i'm hoping i'm so numb you could drive your vehicle over the right side of my face. i Should have said, but i think i just mumbled a weak "Mhmm...yes."
The decision was made to take care of the one on top that wasn't protruding forward and hiding garbage and possibly an answer to my problems, but that's another report. Reaching behind my head again, a shovel was grasped within the pretty gloved hands and i was told more fateful words. (The conversation that went on during this time was enthralling to say the least. i'm sure you can tell.)
"You're going to feel a lot of pressure, but there shouldn't be any pain. Let me know if there is any."
Such warm words of encouragement. A comedian talks about feeling this same pressure and well, it's a riot. He warns that a doctor could be brandishing a two by four and say informatively, "In a moment you're going to feel a little pressure." This sums it up. My head was twisted and catapulted every which way, while simultaneously feeling like the equivalent of having someone duct tape your soul and start wrenching with all their might. Then a pleasant pop, and a real tooth with real cementum hovered over my face for a second before disappearing forever.
This has gone on too long, permission to halt your reading is granted anytime, day or night. The bottom tooth had to come out still. The impacted one. The that had come in facing forward. Tasty.
i Was told she had to drill the tooth because unlike the other one, it was pushing against a molar. The other one they could gouge and simply yank with small pliers [my dad had brought probably, saving money issue]. i Was told once more to let her know (or scream i wanted to plead?) if it hurt. The drilling commenced. Throbbing did too. i Tried to look as helpless as possible and squint my eyes with all my might, keeping them open so she could see the anguish. More needles. Shot up with more Novocain (a derivative of it truthfully, i learned), she was ready to battle the heartless and cruel enemy of mine now. Drilling. More. And water with the drill and that absolutely worthless tool that is supposed to suck up the "stuff" i don't wallow in or swallow. (i Wonder if anyone at all has even thought of a better option. Screwy business.)
Stabbing pangs. More shots. And this cycled through at least one more time totaling at about six (yep, 6) shots of this supposedly anesthetized senseless substance. She gave up and said she was off to get "the big guns." She had never done impacted "wisdom" teeth before.
The doctor who was taking care of me, had never removed my sort of teeth. This narrator, was again a "guinea pig" for someone's career. The Guns entered and proceeded to grab hold of the Devil with the failing pliers, and cracks louder than Old West dynamite booms sounded. It didn't give up. The Guns did.
He told her he was going to let her do it after giving some more inconceivable intel. about "flapping." (Maybe i had too much wannabe Novocain.) She continued, with a nervous agreement and look toward the Big Guns. Finally, it came out. Announcing with triumph, naturally for she, and i the guinea pig, had passed through the Abyss.
Many much warnings and plenty of information given, i said a feeble thank you and swayed and sauntered off forgetting my wind-breaker.
This pointless notation hurt me too. The ravines in my skull now quiver from being talked about to this extent.
Parting remark: When asked if i saw the teeth after they came off, i answered with a yes and an acknowledgement that i had seen them "carry" it off. Although, heaved and hauled is much more fitting.
