Wise thoughts on Wisdom Teeth

Last Friday I got my wisdom teeth out. I had a trippy experience with the anesthesia for about an hour, and then was sent home for a pain-filled weekend of fun. Here are some of the troubles I encountered with my swollen cheeks:

I’m popping Advil’s like tic tacs. I laugh in the face of the warning label on the back, recommending a max of six per day. Ha! I have six for a snack. I usually stir about 12 into my morning oatmeal, and then pop a few more on the drive to work. I can grab and take a handful of Advil from my bedside table without even opening my eyes in the morning. I take handfuls of Advil in the shower. I take Advil while I’m getting dressed (one between pulling on each sleeve.) Then, during the morning meeting I’m slipping them into my mouth from my pocket. I even doodle little Advil people on my notepad. (It’s all I think about.. and in case you’re wondering, the Advil man looks kind of like the Blood Mobile Man, a drop of blood with a face and a cape) I have a bowl of “party mix” on my desk that is only Advil (in assorted types: gel tabs, circles, and ovals).
The Wal-Mart family pack of Advil can’t begin to meet my needs. I’ve emptied tubs of the stuff and my room is littered with empty Advil bottles. I’ve become rather partial to the gel form, because then I can swallow more than six at once. (Am I making anyone nauseous?) I feel like I should be studied by the Advil Institute and give them advice on how to better bottle or prepare their next batch of Advil. When I complained to my dentist over the phone about the pain he said “Are you taking Advil?” I was stunned in silence. Am I taking Advil? Perhaps you would like to come to my apartment, if you can open the door through the piles of empty Advil bottles, and look for my Ibuprofened little body. I’ll be the one in the kitchen, with the blood shot eyes and fat cheek, baking an Advil cake.

At first I was afraid of taking a narcotic. But Vicodin hasn’t done anything for me, except make me lie awake in my bed thinking “Am I in some placebo group or something?” I’m now convinced that anyone who’s addicted to Vicodin would get the same high from chewing a stick of Trident. And I had a lot of hope for the Vicodin. I mean, it’s gotta be one of the scariest words ever. Vicodin. It’s kinda like vampire, but kinda not. Imagine if someone were named Vicodin. I would always be scared of them. There probably is someone out there named Vicodin, in like Yemin or somewhere. I sure don’t wanna meet them. And when you tell people you’re taking Vicodin, it has like the scariest connotation. People at work said “Are you taking anything?” I’m like “Yeah, sometimes Vicodin.” They all immediately gasp and take a giant step back. It has a perception to be eerily powerful or something. But I’m here to tell you, people, it’s not. And trust me, I was one of the believers once too. I thought the only people who should be taking Vicodin were people who like fell off a ski lift onto a metal spike and then were run over by a dog sled. Not a little girl who was in a dentist chair for about an hour and had her tooth tapped, and then left. (Seriously, that’s all I felt.)

I’ve forgotten what solid food tastes like. If Jell-O doesn’t make it, I don’t know what it tastes like. Today was my first day with any type of real food. I was pretty nervous. And I have to chew like an old lady… really slowly and straight up and down.. no sudden moves. It’s the first time in my life that I’ve come to appreciate the fact the McDonald hamburgers are flat as a pancake and lack any substance. You don’t have to open your jaw or chew at all… they just sort of slide in like a punch card.

It’s been five days. Five days! And I’m still puffy and in pain. And everyone has their two cents to put in about the situation. But I know something’s up. My concern now is no longer that I’m going to live through the anesthesia (since I did) but that the left side of my face will be numb forever. You might laugh at this, but it could happen. Now, I recall having the consultation to discuss such things with the surgeon guy a few days before the actual event. (We shall refer to that as “the day which shall not be named”) He was showing me a panoramic x-ray of my mouth, which I was so mesmerized by that I stopped listening to what he was saying. I seem to remember now him pointing out some white lines along my gumline that he said were nerves that can sometimes get stretched. Stretched? What are they, jump ropes? These are NERVES! Aren’t they kinda important? Are they gonna sproing back in place, or am I gonna be paralyzed forever? Now I wished I’d paid more attention during that consultation, but at the time, a funny looking bird appeared at the window, and all I can remember from then on is “blah blah blah tooth, blah blah blah permanent paralysis, blah blah blah, do you consent?”
So I really don’t know what was going on in my mouth when I went in for surgery. For all I know, I could have agreed to something totally different. “So, during the consultation, we agreed that you should have all of the teeth on the left side of you mouth moved to the right, right? OK, here we go! Count back from 100!” Cause really that’s what it feels like he did.

** An interesting blog side note: My spell checker insisted that Vicodin should be spelled “Vic ODin.” No, mister computer. I’m not referring to the jolly Irishman who owns the pub down the street, Mr. O’Din. I’m in fact referring to the completely inert drug Vicodin, whose name is highly commonplace. Thanks, Mr. Spellchecker. Vic O’Din of Hoboken, Ireland is glad you’re thinking of him, but he agrees that you need to get out more.