February 13, 2004

Back from surgery.

Going on three hours after I had my top and bottom wisdom teeth on the left side removed (#16 and #17 by my oral surgeon's list.) I'm still not experiencing any pain, maybe because the two shots of novocaine are still in effect, as is two pills of Vicodin and two of Motrin. I'll be taking these along with amoxicillin until I'm healed or the pill bottles are empty. I'm typing one handed; the other hand is holding an ice pack in place. Soup is simmering on the stove, and I'm mildly buzzing.

I've still got two wisdom teeth on the right side, but I'm going to have to pay my dad back for the $400 bill he's helping me pay. The experience really wasn't bad, so really, money's the only object at this point.

I had a friend from work drive me to and from the surgeon. I got there a little early, and had to listen to another would-be patient complain about the cost of getting whatever she needed done, and repeated demands that she be served promptly. "The lady who was just sitting here said she was waiting an hour. I've got a job. I'm not waiting here an hour." Blah blah blah. I was a half hour early, and got in a chair within 15 minutes of arrival. The surgeon was an ex-Army oral surgeon, and moved from room to room assembly-line style.

I got some papaya-flavored gel to numb the spots where he gave me shots. The shots were the only pain I felt the rest of the visit. He put a cloth over my eyes, at which point I started to get nervous -- especially when he and the assistant started talking about someone else. At one point, the assistant said "Oh, no!" out of the blue. She wasn't talking about me, but when someone's got his fingers in your mouth, you only talk in vowels.

Extraction didn't hurt at all. All I felt was pressure, and it all felt like it was downward, too. At one point the assistant stuck a rubber brace along my right cheek to help keep my mouth open, but it soon came out, followed soon by the cloth coming off and him telling me to sit up. I couldn't believe he'd finished, and demanded to see my teeth. The assistant put them in a sealed bag and handed them to me. "What, you want to do it again?" the surgeon asked. "Not if you're already done," I said.

Some artwork:

  • Bloody. This is why I tell people I hate my teeth. (Don't worry, ladies, I usually don't show them to the world like this. so I'm not usually this hideous.) The dark spot in between my lower lip and teeth is blood. I'm not supposed to spit, because it might dislodge the blood clots keeping my nerve endings covered up, to avoid the dreaded fibrinolytic alveolitis -- dry socket. That's where most of the pain is supposed to come from, and I'm not looking forward to it.

  • Toilet. No, I'm not on the rag, those are tissues from my mouth. I stopped bleeding about an hour later, but I'm having to fight my habit of sucking on my teeth.

  • Teeth. The one on the left is from the top, and the right is from the bottom. The gray discoloration on the left one is where half the crown was rotted off. It was all superficial, though -- the cavity didn't go any deeper. Note the Fight Club DVD case. I am a badass.

  • Pills. The narrow ones up front are Motrin and Vicodin, and the fat one in the back is the amoxicillin. Everyone's telling me not to schlep on the painkillers -- even a half hour late will mean a half hour of pain, they say.

So that's my story, for now. Taking it easy for the weekend, and hopefully I'll be mostly normal by Sunday. Hopefully my pudding tubes, soup and fruit cups will keep me alive until then.

Posted by j at February 13, 2004 07:19 PM
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