Monday, October 16, 2006

More Room In The Talk Machine

So, I got my wisdom teeth out on Friday. Four teeth out all at once. After everyone telling me all their wisdom teeth horror stories I was expecting the worst, but it never really got to that level. My face was swollen, and I was bloody and sore, but really no legitimate pain. I didn't even take any of my vicodin.

This surgery was my first endeavor into the world of anesthesia. I've never been out cold before other than booze-related out cold. It was pretty cool. One second you are talking to the surgeon about whatever bullshit you talk to a surgeon about and the next second (40 minutes later) you are missing four teeth and are heading out to pay.

I had full intention of requesting my teeth so I could bring them home and get some loot from the Tooth Fairy or at the very least make some cool wisdom tooth earrings or a necklace. During all the filling out of forms, meeting surgeon helpers and answering questions, I totally forgot. Part way through the surgery I remember saying to save my teeth. I still am not sure if I made any sense to anyone other than myself, but I did hear the surgeon tell one of his assistants to give me another shot of sleepy. At the time I didn't even realize I had been out. I thought the whole thing had just started. Hindsight filled me in on my incorrectness. So, to the people working on my mouth, they had a guy quiet and sleepy for what I am guessing to be at least 15 minutes and all of a sudden I this guy is saying, "Make sure you save those for me." If they could understand me, it must have been pretty funny.

Another odd thing I remember from my time in dopey land was music. The music had started before any drugs had been administered. The surgeon told me pre-surgery, "We'll try not to rock out too hard" and I told him I was fully capable of handling whatever rock he sent my way. He had the band Mest on (I had to ask who it was), which was certainly within my rockin' tolerance. The odd part of all this was when I was "out" I specifically remember the line, "Well I'd be better off dead than lying here alone" which isn't the most surgery friendly thing to hear. It also goes "I cut you deep, I stitched you up ... ". Fucking odd. It turns out to be the song "Cursed" which doesn't seem to be about oral surgery, but it could have fooled me at the time.

All in all, it was a job well done. I'm slightly afraid of the final bill, but the surgeon seemed pretty excellent, and I'm more than willing to be a little broke rather than mangled and pained. If anyone needs some mouth fixin' you can let me know and I'll give you my surgeon's info.

2 comments:

Lozo said...

bring the vicodin to meg's party. it will complete my brett favre costume.

Kenneth Walsh said...

They shoulda had you rocking out to champagne and candlelight! ... that would have prepared you for anything.

And what does pretty excellent mean, anyway?