Wisdom Tooth Removal: As Painful As Pulling Teeth

On Sunday, we made our historic trek back from the mountains. Yet the worst was to come. We made our way to the Quarters, a local barbecue grill, as my last meal before evil was to come to my poor mouth. I ordered a shrimp sandwich with salad and the like.

I could not enjoy my sandwich.krystal_humor1.png

The next day, I awoke, knowing, deep down inside, that I had not gotten any sleep, and that something odd was about to happen, because as I awoke from my slight slumber I began to make little howling noises for no apparent reason. Evil was to befall me, and soon. I became entrapped in the hands of Fate, knowing that I had to have my wisdom teeth removed. It was not negotiable, because wisdom teeth, like anything pertaining to wisdom in our society, simply cause trouble. If we wanted “wisdom” in our society, we would buy a medium-sized regular Coke, instead of a Gut-Buster 52-ounce Diet Coke filled with carbonation and Nutra-Sweet.

Although, to be fair, those teeth were becoming little bastards, causing me undue pain and frustration. They had become the Juvenile Delinquent Youth of my mouth, putting peer pressure on my teeth, trying to get them to do crack and smack and marijuana. They regularly performed drive-by shootings in my mouth, causing tiny cavities to form in my poor teeth. And, worst of all, they created these little pink lumps at the back of my mouth that got in the way when I tried to eat. If God had wanted us to have pink lumps at the back of our mouths, He would not have invented dental surgeons to take our money.

So anyway, we went to the doctor. Like the Beverly Hillbillies, in our family, everybody (that means me, my grandmother, and my mother) travels everywhere together. It should, of course, be no surprise to anybody that we drive a Ford pickup truck, and the only thing that is even remotely foreign in our yard is a Ford Escape, which is actually a rebadged Mazda. So, on this trip, we all packed in and made our redneck way to the dental surgeon’s, which was owned by a man named Dr. Wheaton.

I was escorted to the back by a woman wearing a very cute lab coat, one with Snoopy on it. I think all dental surgeons should do this. It made me feel very calm, to the point that my blood pressure was only about 140 beats a minute as I wet myself going into the operatory.

Note: The only reason I know my heart rate at this point is because I could feel my heart beating in my chest. Also, I didn’t wet myself. That was only hyperbole. I think.

So, anyway, they strap my arms down, and put on all this equipment and electrodes and a mask on my nose, and I’m scared to death. I begin asking questions as they stick the IV in my arm.

“How are you?” the doctor asks.

“Fine, but… I thought I was supposed to be under general anesthesia”, I say. “So why am I still awake?

“Because we haven’t given you the anesthesia yet,” the doctor says.

So, anyway, in a couple minutes, I’m completely out. And whenever I come back through, we all pack back up into the car, and take me home, where I sleep for the rest of the day. Oh sure, I read webcomics a little later. But realistically, I didn’t play Dance Dance Revolution, and still have not, meaning that I’m pretty much wasting time. This is sad, but someday I’ll get back.

What I have been doing is surfing the Internet endlessly, as well as playing guitar and researching things I probably shouldn’t. Of course I have not prepared for college. There are more important things to do. Tomorrow, I’m going to get a new game for my Wii, and I’m going to eat some soft Chinese food, and I’m going to continue to not prepare for college, and I’m going to continue to research horrible things I shouldn’t be researching. Why? Because I’ve lost my wisdom teeth, which were what made me wise.

Although, to be fair, I did the exact same things before the surgery.

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