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Wise, no more!

Just kidding.

I just got those pesky upper wisdom teeth removed about 4.5 hours ago, as of this posting. Barring a freak occurrence, this should be the last time I have to get wisdom teeth removed.

I don’t know why, but I was much more anxious about it this time than the first. I actually started crying when they gave me the first sedative. It didn’t help that this made me dizzy, which didn’t relax me at all.

I don’t remember falling asleep or waking up. If you ask me, they didn’t remove them at all, but the slowly reddening gauze in my slightly chipmunk-lookin’ cheeks says otherwise. (As does my dad’s testimony that the surgery did take an astoundingly short 20 minutes–though this was more of a simple tooth extraction, as my wisdom teeth were actually growing in very straight.) All I know is that, coming out of sedation, I was NOT happy. After my first surgery, I was a little groggy, but otherwise quite lucid. This time around, I was not so lucid. I was seeing double (if not triple or quadruple) of a lot of things, I was massively dizzy, and these in turn made me really nauseated. This… is not a happy sensation for me, to put it mildly, and I was very vocal about it, according to my dad.

I remember bits and pieces–“I don’t like this…”, “I’m dizzy!”, “I’m seeing double” (or something to that effect), but most poignantly, when my dad let go of my hand so I could be moved to a wheelchair or so that he could open the car door, I wailed, “DADDY, DON’T LEAVE!” A happy camper, I was not. You try being bounced around in a wheelchair across a street when you can’t see straight and are so dizzy you can hardly sit without help, and forget about standing. It’s hopefully somewhat understandable that I was going between whimpering, bawling, and screaming during those three minutes. (I’ll be sending an email to the clinic right after this apologizing for my behavior and thanking them for their service. I might not have been able to control it all that well, but they were very professional and treated me with great care.)

It took the 20-minute drive home to stop seeing double (for the most part–even now, if I turn my head fast enough, it’s a little weird), and another hour beyond that for me to be able to sit and stand without help. I was able to chow down on some homemade applesauce and some yogurt before taking half a prescription strength painkiller and an ibuprofen. (Chickadoodle does not do well with any painkillers stronger than over-the-counter.)

So now, I’m happily ensconced on the couch in my parents’ basement, I’ve got my laptop for music and movies, and my phone. I’m propped up pretty far–the doctor said that I am not to lie flat  (or anything resembling it) for the next 48 hours, so I will be sleeping all propped up, which is fine by me. I’ve got my ice packs and my cold food for today and my warm food for tomorrow. I don’t actually have antibiotics this time; the doctor says that he doesn’t prescribe them unless a hole is opened between the roof of the mouth and the sinuses, where the roots of upper wisdom teeth often reach. (Well, or unless the patient has a history of infections. I don’t.)

So, that’s roughly the state of things. Here’s a picture of my dad’s and my ingenious rigging to keep my ice packs in place. It works.

Hoodies have their uses.

Hoodies have their uses.

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