Much has occurred since my last real post, dearest reader. I have changed majors, a decision that was not made easily, I passed all my classes, I have obtained the ability to drive an automobile, played and talked to many cats, watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, strengthened my relationship with strawberries and peanut butter, and I have stared at the face of death and misery and somehow survived.
I'm not going to build up any suspense. At this point it should be pretty obvious what terrible thing I had to go through. I mean, it's in the title of this post, and I'm sure you're clever enough to figure it out. I had my wisdom teeth pulled. The day after school ended. This is how my summer started. With pain. This made me very sad.
I went to the dentist place a while ago, and it was there that the four bringers of misery and woe were coming in. There they were, coming in slowly, like the Titanic making heading straight towards that massive iceberg. I knew chaos was to ensue.
At first I imagined the four wisdom teeth to be evil little fuckers out to make my life suck. But I soon realized that they weren't evil little fuckers. Despite their name, they really aren't wise. They were just four stupid, confused teeth, trying to help their older brethren with my chewing. But they actually just screw everything up, headed towards the other molars in a stupid manner, only to impact them and make them all claustrophobic and shit. I wasn't willing to let them mess up my nice teeth, especially after enduring three goddamn years of braces. No, my teeth were to stay straight. They're the only good physical feature I have, goddamnit.
The night before the surgery, I was instructed to take Valium to keep me calm and help me sleep. I had lots of fun with it. I was watching television after I had taken the Valium and I remember seeing a thin Buddha. I apparently found this hilarious and started cracking up for no reason. I then stumbled to bed while giggling.
But then everything went to shit the next day. I was sedated and put into a fucked up state of consciousnesses. I felt nothing in this state, and I was mostly asleep it seemed. It turned out I wasn't actually asleep, but just entirely unaware of what was happening around me. I did however hear these terrifying sounds of drills and other tools that I can only assume were instruments of torture from those terrible Saw movies.
When I finally came around, my mouth was stuffed with cotton andI discovered that I couldn't feel my face at all. I was bored out of my mind. I found my chin and lips that had become completely numb to be a glorious fountain of joy and amusement and I began playing with these body parts. My mother made me stop. This made me very sad.
After some degrading minutes filled with whining, incoherent mumbling, and bodily fluids, I was able to leave the premises. I was taken back home and I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up to the sounds of my sister making popcorn and a fishbowl on the table with water but no fish. This made me very sad.
I was thinking clearly again which cheered me up a bit. But then, out of nowhere, my life of peace and sweet, sweet innocence came to an end. It was as if we were cruising at a speedy but comfortable 60 miles per hour, only to have the driver be a complete douchebag and slam on the breaks taking us down to a complete dead stop in a matter of two seconds. Then whiplash.
From the back of my mouth, something was rising. Dark, deep, malicious holes consuming all happiness and joy were awakening. Tiny demons known as nociceptors continuously struggled and fought within these black holes, making everything miserable, sad, and painful for me.
Fortunately, I had a weapon to fight back these evil little demons: Vicodin! I had heard stories about this drug making people feel sick, happy, pain-free, and more, so it would be interesting to see how it would affect me. I was looking forward to having the pain stop, so I went ahead and took one. And, yes, the pain ceased and I was happy. But then shit got weird. I was unable to function normally, my thoughts were scattered, and I got pretty fucking dizzy. Simple tasks like playing with Legos became incredibly difficult and impossible without the help of my two friends and scissors had become much more dangerous now. The more I took the drug, the blurrier everything got. The week after I got my teeth pulled is kind of like a smear on my memory. Everything is blended together and hard to make out. This made me very sad.
But alas, I have recovered. A few months have passed and my sanity has not left me. I think. If you have yet to have your teeth pulled, I don't think you should worry too much. There is no guarantee that your teeth pulling will be as enjoyable as mine. It could be a lot worse. Or even more enjoyable! But I have some words of advice that may help.
First off, I think one of the most important things you can do is to keep yourself entertained. Boredom can seriously fuck you up. With your teeth gone, and cheeks all swollen, going out into public may not be the ideal thing to do, especially when you are prone to bleeding and passing out and running into pointy objects. So if you aren't used to hiding inside all day, get used to it. Find a good book, or ask some of your friends to let you borrow some movies or games or something. You can try doing some puzzles, but you could possibly be in a state of complete confusion and helplessness, so that could actually exacerbate the situation. Getting used to eating mushy foods will help too. You won't be doing a lot of chewing after your teeth are pulled, which actually really sucks especially when a sibling of yours decides to make delicious popcorn knowing you are near the vicinity of said popcorn making and unable to eat said popcorn. Seriously, don't let anyone living in your house do that shit. It's the worst thing ever and it just makes you want to cry.
I had the unfortunate experience of not being able to remember much of the whole week after having my teeth pulled. It was horrible. Having to ask your friends what you did when they came over is kind of pathetic and sad. I have an idea for you, dear reader, so that your memory loss, if you experience any, will not totally fuck you up. Much like some people do with their dreams, you too should keep a journal of your life on drugs after getting your teeth pulled. I don't know if it'll help, especially if you're all loopy on weird drugs, but it might! And it'll make for possibly funny, nonsensical words and stuff. It's a generally positive idea, I think. Just do it, damn it.
But more important than that, just remember that this too shall pass. It'll suck, but it'll only suck for a while. And remember that everyone responds differently to the procedure. Go ask around for several opinions and accounts from your friends and family members and random strangers on the streets. They'll give you some good insight. Hopefully.
So take a deep breath of that laughing gas and let the drugs lull you to a peaceful slumber. Happy teeth extractions!