As I sat in the fluorescent light of the waiting room last Friday, I thought about how I was going to miss my teeth. It wasn’t that I was facing a lifetime of difficulty chewing. Wisdom teeth don’t offer much help in that department. But I’m a hoarder of artifacts of personal significance. I have quarter century-old t-shirts I can’t throw away because I wore them on momentous days. A sudden, violent and permanent separation from two teeth that had been with me through decades of meals and conversations seemed sort of tragic.
These were sober, sentimental thoughts. I tried to hold onto them as useful diversions from my approximately 29 intense fears. Fear #4, that I would have an allergic reaction to the general anesthetic and perish during the extraction, was easy enough to suppress because it was so unlikely to happen. But Fear #12, that I would have skull-splitting headaches for days afterward, seemed all too rational. And as for Fear #18—that on the drive home Sharon would be distracted by concern for me and crash the car—well, it almost would have been disloyal to her not to be afraid.
Along with my diversions, I was equipped with sage advice from my predecessors in wisdom tooth extraction. As it turns out, lots of people at UMBC have had their wisdom teeth removed. I just waited longer than most to have it done. In the days leading up to my appointment, I learned about pain medications, soft foods and the curious effects of anesthesia from many kind and sympathetic members of our community. Generally these tidbits raised rather than lowered my blood pressure, but I appreciated everyone’s concern.
My name was called: “David.” It seemed kind of informal, coming from a stranger who would soon help wrench away pieces of my head. I was led to a small, white room, and instructed to take my place on a chair that seemed to be sprouting equipment. The oral surgeon and two attendants got busy searching for veins and laying out instruments of torture. And then ...
Sharon says the whole thing took 17 minutes from the word “David,” followed by 40 minutes of delirious waiting while she paid and received instructions for my care. Allegedly, during those 40 minutes, I repeated the phrase “I’m really glad I got the general anesthetic” about 7 times, plus 5 more later in the car. I remember only sipping at a cup of lukewarm Diet Coke, and then the long ride home. I felt no pain. Later that night I got a mild headache, but on the whole the experience has been far, far easier than even the best-case scenario I had envisioned during the weeks of anticipation.
While I will never see those two teeth again, I do have some new artifacts for my collection: emails and Facebook posts from thoughtful friends. And though it’s not something I can stash in a drawer, I also get to keep a story that may ease the fears of the next of us in line for a tooth extraction.
While I will never see those two teeth again, I do have some new artifacts for my collection: emails and Facebook posts from thoughtful friends. And though it’s not something I can stash in a drawer, I also get to keep a story that may ease the fears of the next of us in line for a tooth extraction.
