Hole in my head

As I went to sleep last night, I was greeted with dreams about the back of my mouth. I wasn't worried or nervous, but I was slightly apprehensive: I was going to have four rock-like objects cut from my gums. And how could someone even reach my two top wisdom teeth?

I awoke this morning about ten minutes before I had to leave. I had formed a goal for myself: to remain calm. That wasn't too hard, because I was tired anyway. But I did have to remember a request from my brother: He wanted me to ask if I could have my wisdom teeth after they were removed. The two nurses I asked thought I was the one who really wanted the teeth.

I also had to ask about nitrous oxide. At my consultation appointment two weeks ago, the surgeon told me he would have me breathe nitrous oxide for a few minutes so I wouldn't get finicky when he put an IV into my arm. I thought, "I don't need no stinkin' gas." I'm not squeamish like that; only worms can gross me out. So I wasn't given nitrous oxide.

My surgeon had been in practice for nearly 40 years - so he was old as the hill (well, not really), and funny as a hill too. At my consultation, he joked that "Despite everything you've been told, your mouth just isn't big enough." I didn't get it. In other words, he was a really nice guy. I'm glad I got him.

So I was put in one of the chairs like are at the dentist's and was hooked up to a blood pressure gauge and heart rate monitor. The heart rate monitor was cool - it fluctuated every time I moved or held my breath.

They put the IV in my arm, and that's the last thing I remember. I may have opened my eyes once during the procedure, and I saw the surgeon above me.

I woke up gradually, so I don't remember the order of events then. When I saw the band-aid they had put on my arm, I thought, "Lovely." Someone had drawn a winking smiley face with long eyelashes and a heart for lips on my band-aid.

I heard my mom talking to one of the nurses, and apparently I moaned to them every once and a while in an attempt to join the conversation.

I did get to keep my wisdom teeth. If I hadn't gotten them, they would have been put in the office's hazardous waste room. The teeth look big and gangly, and the roots on one are crooked. I could see the three witches putting them into their pot.

I lay in bed for five hours after I got back, which was around 7:30. I had gauze in my mouth to soak up the blood from the gashes, and I took penicillin and vicodin. The bad part has been that I have to swallow the spit that collects in my mouth, and that hurts. I can't talk much. I'm probably groggy from the vicodin (it contains codeine); I keep misspelling words as I type (although that seems normal for teenagers). My mom keeps telling me not to run down the stairs (a bad habit of mine), because that might make me weak. I haven't been able to keep that in my head yet.

Since I can't talk, my brother had the idea of taking the buzzer out of the game Taboo and having me press it when I need something. That, and the fact that I get to eat tons of ice cream this week, is the fun part of having my wisdom teeth removed.

I'm going to go cool my ice pack.