Post-Op: The Wisdom Teeth Ordeal

Post-Op: The Wisdom Teeth Ordeal


Ok, I do have to say that it really wasn’t all that bad. As a matter of fact, the things that are the real bitches are the things that you have to do afterwards. Anyway, what follows is a day-by-day rundown of the entire thing. Hope you enjoy my pain, bloodsuckers.

The Procedure

I wake up, bright and early, after a night of uneasy sleep. I leave everything that I have that is worth stealing, which is really nothing, behind and get shipped off to my grandparents’ house. When I get there, I am really fucking hungry, but one of the stipulations of the process is you can’t have anything to eat past midnight the previous day, to make matters worse my grandma is a food wizard. So, I have to smell and feast my eyes upon a counter-full of delicious breakfast food, that I can’t fucking eat. This is going to be awesome…

7:45 rolls around and I pile into the truck to go get things cut out of my head. When we get to the office, we are greeted by the cast of “Chico and The Man” minus Grandpa Joe. Also, their son is crying his damn eyes out in the operating room…what a bitch. I sign some papers, ditch my coat and shoes, sit down in the dentist chair of doom, and get to it. I allow myself a diva moment and request that Bob Dylan be played while I am waiting. The first time around I saw that the quack had some cd’s in his room; Gordon Lightfoot, Cat Stevens, and Dylan. The nurses, God bless them, complied and promptly started to gas me up.

Have you even seen Little Shop of Horrors? Well, for those of you that suck, let me explain the reference. In the movie, Steve Martin plays a sadistic dentist that abuses laughing gas. I have never had laughing gas and had always thought that the performance was just an exaggeration of the effects of the stuff. I was dead wrong, dear readers. As soon as that wonderful concoction of chemical wonders hit my lungs, I knew exactly why people get arrested for having tanks of this stuff in their house. I even inquire to where I could purchase some…the question was quickly tossed aside. The only thing that worried me was the fact that my entire right side started to twitch violently. Upon seeing this, I asked if it was normal. The answer that I received was less than satisfactory: “Oh…not really…but different people have different reactions to the gas”. Fantastic, I am going to Belushi on laughing gas or better yet twitch myself onto the instrument table.

By this time, I am I.V’ed and am starting to go under. I am under for the better part of an hour and a half. At the first consultation, I am warned that I might be conscious through the last part of the operation, which, of course, happens. The only thing I really remember about that is the fact that Dr. Farr was talking to me, essentially giving me a play-by-play of what the hell he was doing to me. And he kept calling me “kiddo”…yeesh, there is nothing creepier than someone calling someone kiddo while they are asleep.

After all is said and done and my mouth resembles something akin to the opening frames of a CSI episode, I am told that I am free to leave. I remember only bits and pieces of this, but what I do remember is trying to reason with the doctor about why I didn’t need a wheelchair and that I was “well damn able walk to” (the quote, by the way, is verbatim because a nurse told me about it when I went back of a follow up check-up). I also remember trying to laugh when I accidently spit blood all over the front desk, waiting for my mom to sign some stuff. Laughing directly after oral surgery is something like someone jabbing your back gums with white hot knives…not pleasant.

The Aftermath

Now, I was home, all iced up, and with dumb looking fucking socks tied around my head. I had taken a few aspirin and was told by my doctor that, if stronger meds were needed that there would be a prescription waiting. I took four ibuprofen and realized about three seconds after taking them that I needed way stronger pills (Like I was going to say no to free pills?). So, the next few days were spent watching random ass movies, getting mellowed by the Blue Wonders, and eating more pudding and soup than any man of eighteen ever should. I did have a notebook and pen by my bed at all times so I could write down anything I just thought of. Here are some golden nuggets from this experiment:

“I wish I could detach my face”

“Pain is playing a fifteen song set in my skull”

“Light me on fire soes my teeth will stop.”

Isn’t modern medicine fun?! Well, that’s it, dear readers. I would like to thank all my wonderful friends for putting up with my bitching during those days and a big fuck off to some for not visiting. Be back later, kids with something else for you to chew on.

Going Gonzo,
-J.Partridge, The Enemy