Yesterday I had a wisdom tooth removed. I'd been very blase about the whole affair. Last year I had the first one done and spent a month worrying about it beforehand - mostly due to Matt's ghastly tales of what happened when he had all four done at once under general anaesthetic and then spent two weeks in agony unable to eat properly, losing a stone in weight as a result, and some of the feeling in his lower lip, permanently. However, although they took about half an hour to get it out, in about six different pieces, the most pain I felt was a severe jaw ache at having to keep my mouth open so wide for that long.
This time, the worries didn't start until we were in the taxi on the way to the hospital (I was briefly cheered at one point when we passed a dental surgery called 'Poo' - I think it must have been named after the Asturian coastal town of Poo which is a pretty little place despite the moniker. Since I've been here I've also found a Boo, a Lada and a Nora).
So, I started fretting in the taxi, and then during the hour-long wait at the hospital. (Why do they do that? You're given an appointment for 10am, you arrive on time, or even ten minutes early, and then they make you wait for an hour to see someone.) When I was eventually called in, I shuffled nervously to the chair and was, to my relief, given a huge quantity of local anaesthetic. Then my nerves fluttered again when I saw the trainee nurse - she looked like a slightly older version of one of my eleven-year old students. Oh dear.
After the dentist had unsuccessfully tried to lever the damn thing out I started to fret even more, especially when she grabbed my jaw at the front and warned that she'd be using 'a bit of force'. Then, even worse, came the drill - here we go for another half an hour at least, I thought and steeled myself for more trauma and jaw ache. I was so busy trying to make myself relax that I thought I'd heard incorrectly when the dentist said, with some satisfaction, 'there we go, all finished.' But no, the rogue tooth had indeed been removed, and in one piece at that. I positively floated from the chair and bounced out of the room to a very surprised Matt who had been preparing himself for another long wait on the very uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room. And that was that.
The worst part about having this tooth taken out is eating, or slurping as I should say (closely followed by the vile salt-water rinses I have to perform after every 'meal'). I have been prohibited from chewing for a few days, and everything I imbue has to be cold. No hot, or even warm foodstuffs at all, ugh. It's only been twenty-four hours and I'm daydreaming about crusty baguettes and warming soups already. It wasn't so bad last time, as it was a hot and sunny May. Gazpacho in the middle of March when it's cold and rainy just makes me miserable. I've also been surviving on yoghurts, stewed apple, hummus and fruit smoothies. If anyone has any ideas on some tasty, filling, savoury and veggie mush I can eat I'd be very grateful!
This time, the worries didn't start until we were in the taxi on the way to the hospital (I was briefly cheered at one point when we passed a dental surgery called 'Poo' - I think it must have been named after the Asturian coastal town of Poo which is a pretty little place despite the moniker. Since I've been here I've also found a Boo, a Lada and a Nora).
So, I started fretting in the taxi, and then during the hour-long wait at the hospital. (Why do they do that? You're given an appointment for 10am, you arrive on time, or even ten minutes early, and then they make you wait for an hour to see someone.) When I was eventually called in, I shuffled nervously to the chair and was, to my relief, given a huge quantity of local anaesthetic. Then my nerves fluttered again when I saw the trainee nurse - she looked like a slightly older version of one of my eleven-year old students. Oh dear.
After the dentist had unsuccessfully tried to lever the damn thing out I started to fret even more, especially when she grabbed my jaw at the front and warned that she'd be using 'a bit of force'. Then, even worse, came the drill - here we go for another half an hour at least, I thought and steeled myself for more trauma and jaw ache. I was so busy trying to make myself relax that I thought I'd heard incorrectly when the dentist said, with some satisfaction, 'there we go, all finished.' But no, the rogue tooth had indeed been removed, and in one piece at that. I positively floated from the chair and bounced out of the room to a very surprised Matt who had been preparing himself for another long wait on the very uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room. And that was that.
The worst part about having this tooth taken out is eating, or slurping as I should say (closely followed by the vile salt-water rinses I have to perform after every 'meal'). I have been prohibited from chewing for a few days, and everything I imbue has to be cold. No hot, or even warm foodstuffs at all, ugh. It's only been twenty-four hours and I'm daydreaming about crusty baguettes and warming soups already. It wasn't so bad last time, as it was a hot and sunny May. Gazpacho in the middle of March when it's cold and rainy just makes me miserable. I've also been surviving on yoghurts, stewed apple, hummus and fruit smoothies. If anyone has any ideas on some tasty, filling, savoury and veggie mush I can eat I'd be very grateful!
2 comments:
Oh you are very brave!! I need to go to the dentist myself but the most worrying part is the price tag that goes with it!! Dentists are soooo expensive. And you know about little Monnie's problems, even thst is going to cost us over $1000 for 2 baby teeth!!! Now, can you see why I'm too scared to go to the dentist??
Melody,
Phew $1000 +! Thankfully extractions here can be done on the health service, I had to wait nine months, but it was free. I didn't fancy paying for the experience.
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