I finally did it, went under the knife and had all four of my wisdom teeth removed. It must be understood that my decision to have the surgery has been a long, desolate road lined with guilt and coercion that began a decade ago when those tiny extra molars were just a blip on an x-ray.
The dentist first tried to convince me to get them taken out when I was in my early twenties. He referred me to an oral surgeon and told me to check with my insurance company. At that time, I was still on my parents' insurance so I took the information home to my mother.
"These young dentists with their new ideas! They just want to take wisdom teeth out before they even cause any problems. His father (our former family dentist before his retirement) would have never recommended it! You shouldn't have to go through this kind of surgery unless there's something really wrong with you. It's not worth it!" And she threw away the referral.
Over the next few years, if I brought up the dentist's suggestion, my mother would dismiss it.
"That's ridiculous. Your father, grandmother, and I still have ours, and nothing's wrong with us. Don't let those young dentists guilt you into an unnecessary surgery." I didn't have the nerve to tell her that my guilt wasn't really originating from the dentist.
So I quit bringing it up. By my mid-twenties, my wisdom teeth still hadn't even broken through the gums, and I figured they just wouldn't ever come in.
Imagine my surprise when I turned thirty and started teething like a one-year-old. Even though my mother wasn't around anymore to play devil's advocate, her voice still rang out in my head.
"Who cares if they swell up and hurt every now and then, if it hurts when you go in for a cleaning, if they're impacted, if your bottom teeth are growing in at an angle? These young dentists and their new-fangled technology!"
By this time, both my father and brother had had their wisdom teeth removed, and after much guilt-ridden self-talk, I decided to take the plunge and become the next wisdom toothless member of my family.
The funny thing about announcing to the world that you're finally getting your wisdom teeth out is that you're all of a sudden accepted into a secret society with all sorts of weird horror stories about the wisdom tooth extraction experience.
"I woke up half-way through my surgery and tried to tell them I could feel everything, but they wouldn't listen to me. They just continued like I was some experiment in a sci-fi movie!"
"I was given this pill that I was supposed to take two hours before the surgery. It didn't actually kick in until after the surgery, and I felt the whole thing. I threw up all day."
"The surgeon couldn't get my teeth out, they were so huge. He had to put his knee on my chest to pull them out. They won't do that to you. You're too little."
All of these stories are followed by, "That was just my experience. You'll be fine."
Two weeks ago, the reading specialist at my school got a phone call at work. Her son had just had a heart attack.
"He went in to get his wisdom teeth removed," the kindergarten teacher told me, " and he had a heart attack when they administered the sedative. He was only in his twenties."
"I'm getting my wisdom teeth out in two weeks."
"Oh . . . well . . . that won't happen to you. You'll be fine."
I cried pretty much all day before the surgery.
Of course, I was fine.
"I hope Dan had time to get breakfast," I told the nurse as she led me to the recovery room. "It only took five minutes."
"You've been here for an hour."
"Whaaat?"
"Even if you don't feel like it, you need to eat something," the nurse said as she laid me down.
"Oh, I feel like it!" I said through the gauze stuffed in my mouth. "I'm starving."
Dan said I rambled on in the car about being lucid and knowing what I was saying so he wouldn't be able to make fun of me.
"Oh good. I still have a tongue," I supposedly said looking in the car mirror and touching it with my fingers.
I also kept making Dan look in my mouth to make sure they had taken out all four teeth. I couldn't believe they had taken them all out in just five minutes.
Eventually, the sedative wore off, and I became less giddy. I slept the next day, and I did get a little sick from the antibiotics. Once the doctor gave me permission to go off of those, I was fine. My pain was minimal. I didn't even need to take much of the "good stuff" they gave me.
My only complaint is that I was under the impression that the swelling that accompanies wisdom tooth extraction would look like "chipmunk cheeks" which sounds a lot more attractive than the jowels I developed. Instead of resembling a cute, forest creature, I look more like The Incredible Hulk, or as Dan has nicknamed me, "The She-Hulk. She was hot!" Real comforting husband I have taking care of me.
