Prepoceros

It’s been two weeks since the teeth came out, and things are almost back to normal inside my mouth. I stopped taking Advil three days ago when the pain had faded enough that I could ignore it most of the time.

Now nothing hurts (except sometimes my jaw, which doesn’t quite have its whole range of motion back) ; the problem is extricating all the bits of food that get stuck in front of the bottom sockets. It’s almost the same situation I had before the teeth were taken out—this is why they came out in the first place—but whereas before it was tooth-against-tooth and I could stick a fingernail in there and scrape out the debris, now it’s tooth-against-squishy-hole, providing many more places for scraps to hide.

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The bleeding has all but stopped, but the pain is actually worse today than it was yesterday. It’s still manageable with a combination of Advil and Tylenol; I hope it eases up from here on out. My top teeth are fine, but every tooth in my jaw hurts, as though I’d just gotten a major adjustment to my braces. I guess everybody’s shifting around in there, which would also explain why my teeth don’t bite together the way they used to. Meh, no need to worry about that until I start chewing stuff again, which I think is still a few days away.

If time flies when you’re having fun, it craaaaawwwwwls when your face hurts. It’s only been 70-something hours since my teeth came out, but it feels like a week. Not that I’m having an awful time. I’m still at my parents’ house, so apart from the mysteriously slow internet connection, life’s pretty peachy. I’ll be glad to graduate to solid food, though. Today I moved on to cake and well-cooked beans, all mushed (not simultaneously) with my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Hawt.

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I slept right through the quadruple extraction, which ended up taking only thirty minutes. John came in and sat with me in the recovery room for twenty minutes, of which I remember about two. Apparently I was pretty goofy, which really makes me mad I forgot my video camera. I was totally planning to post a video like this one.

John says I lamented not bringing my camera several times, and I also repeatedly stuck my fingers up my nose while mumbling something incoherent through my gauze. He only later realized that I’d been trying to tell him I’d had a nasal cannula.

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I’m pleased to report that after five days of raising a fuss, my rogue wisdom tooth did finally settle its ass down, as I requested. While it was hurting, though, I called to move the surgery date up a bit, so they’re all coming out tomorrow. Huzzah!

Right now I don’t feel much anxiety. I’m trying not to get worked up about it, and so far that’s been pretty successful. No dizziness or nausea, at least, which is a relief. Last night I thought I felt the first wave of nausea coming on around bedtime, but after thinking a little more I realized it was probably that chai frappuccino and toffee bar I had for dinner instead.

I imagine I’ll post pictures of my chipmunk face in a few days, so look forward to those. So long, extra teeth!

I need to write about this because it’s been on my mind a lot lately. It’s about my wisdom teeth and their continued presence in my head.

I first found out that my two bottom wisdom teeth were growing in sideways and would have to be removed when I was seventeen, and for the seven years since then I’ve been (1) putting off having it done and (2) worrying about it.

I actually made and kept a preliminary appointment with an oral surgeon last year, but that was around the same time that Larry I was causing trouble, so I dealt with him first. But that surgeon’s office was done all in matchy browns and oranges with fancy chairs, like someone’s living room. Even the exam rooms were painted a soothing, sumptuous brown. The staff all wore identical burnt-orange scrubs. Would YOU want to undergo minor surgery in someone’s living room? I thought not. Garish hospital white, practical furniture, and bears-and-hippos scrubs for me, please.

Plus the surgeon was too jokey, and his hands were cold and stumpy. Needless to say, I didn’t call those interior decorators medical professionals back, even after I’d recovered from my surgery.

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