Of Wisdom and Woe - Reprisal

For the sake of balance and credit where credit is due, I feel that it's only fair to announce that I have now had my left lower mandible extracted (ie, I'm now wisdom toothless on the bottom) and praise the Lord, neither lockjaw nor dry socket ensued.

Here's what happened - I tried not to think about it too much in advance, but just got to work making a variety of tasty soups, until the fated day came; and off I went to the dental surgery prepared for another hour of trauma and a week of excruciating pain. At least this time I knew what to expect.

The first piece of good news, warmly welcomed, was that only one tooth would need to be dug out, rather than two - yay.

Next came the inevitable needles - last time it took quite a good number of stabs before a suitable location was found to inject, but this time it was on the lucky second attempt that the needle found its home and deposited the blessed anaesthetic into my lip! My heartbeat rose a little when I could still feel the test-pricks on my gum, but it turned out that all was well, and the dentist was soon calling for all manner of grisly instruments of torture with which my lower mandible would thence be attacked.

Here goes, methought, and I settled in for the ride. Breathe in, breathe out... ah yes, the familiar little blob of something at the back of my throat closing off my nasal airpassage and making me have to suck in and blow out air through my metal-filled mouth... breathe in, breathe out... only 45 minutes of this to go. Suction please. Forceps please. Forceps? Hadn't we only just begun?

10 seconds later I saw the forceps being removed from my cavern with a little pearly white (yet tinged with red) carefully caught between. Surely the monster was not out already! It had only been 5 minutes! I didn't dare believe. Mine eyes surely deceived me. But it seemed to be so! I awaited the stitching patiently - but neither did that come! Next thing I knew, there was a swab, being placed in my mouth, there was I, being asked to bite down. Now the chair is coming up, now the sunnies are removed from my face, now the dentist has taken off his gloves. It's all over. I hear a voice behind me ask, "Do you want to keep your tooth?", and in my delirium and disconcertion I say, "no thanks" although I really mean, "of course!!! I need something to boast about and show my friends!" But it's too late. The tooth has found its new home in the clinical waste bin.

I stand up and smile with half my mouth at the blessed dentist. He attempts to wipe a blood spatter off my nose, not succeeding, and then I point out that that little red spot is part of my normal face and try as he might, a wet tissue will never prevail over it. After a hearty chuckle I go to the reception to find yet another joy awaits - the cost is less than last time too! It seems they charge you according to your extraction's score on the traumatic experience index. Nonetheless, it seemed like yet another boon for me that day.

Having learned some lessons last time, I made sure the swab was in the hole, and bit down firmly - but not too firmly. No dreams of munching sticks of chalk or grinding through ropes with my teeth would interrupt my sleep this week.

When I got home, I replaced the swab, and joy of joys, no blood gushed forth! It was bound to be a happy night. Derek and I went off to babysit and spent the evening celebrating over soup and West Wing. Thanks God, it was all a happy time, and now nothing but a happy memory! And I can joyfully announce that these wizzies are now out of my mouth and out of my life, never to trouble me again!