Two weeks ago I went to the dentist for my usual cleaning, and they discovered that two of my wisdom teeth had managed to erupt. Of course, because this is me, they weren't normal eruptions. No, they came through the side of my gums, at odd angles. I've long known my wisdom teeth were severely impacted, but I thought (incorrectly) that it meant I could just ignore them. A bit of crowding in my mouth seemed small price to pay to not have to have someone chopping my jaws apart.
Well, Dr. Hudson is a very wonderful dentist. He said he needed me to see the oral surgeon and talk to him. It was important, he said. I agreed, though hesitantly. The receptionist assured me it often took more than a month to get an appointment with the oral surgeon, and then they had to book the actual surgery. I comforted myself with the knowledge that it would be November before I even had to think this over.
Three hours later they told me that they had managed to get me a consult with Dr. Weldon that Friday. Dr. Weldon, in turn, managed to fit me into his busy schedule just a week and a bit later. Good grief! Both dentist and surgeon stressed how important it was to get this done as soon as possible, and that infection was a matter of "when, not if." I clutched my Valium prescription and signed forms.
Monday I went in for my surgery. I had a Valium in my system, and that was it. Dr. Weldon numbed me up from nose to nipples, and set to work. The first tooth came out in seconds. I was quite pleased. I thought that meant I would be out of the office in a few minutes! Hooray! I thumbed the volume on my drum tape and settled back for the last 30 seconds of this ordeal.
It lasted 40 minutes, and resulted in my lower left wisdom tooth being removed in pieces. There was no pain, not even during this numbing up part. Still, the smell of it, the sounds of hack saws going at it in your mouth, the flavor of blood . . . It was not a good time for me. Still, I made it through.
The first day wasn't bad. I was pretty frozen right up until bedtime, and I had lots of Vicodin in me. I sipped room temperature water, slid pureed stuff in between swollen lips, iced my cheeks, and considered myself lucky. Day two dawned, and I was sore when I woke up, but the morning Vicodin dose helped immensely. I went about my day, made food for myself and others, and actually did some (very light) housework. Day three was another thing altogether. Pain... no Vicodin... I caught my gum when I was brushing my teeth... Yeah, just not good in any way.
By Thursday I was doing alright. It's sore, for sure, but I can mange on ibuprofen and tylenol. I'm able to open my mouth, and today I even ate "real food." Tomorrow I'm going all the way to NYC for my class, so I guess I must be doing alright. I don't look overly swollen, either.
All that led me to today's prompt for Big Tent Poetry, which was a Wordle. I decided to write about my experiences this week. The words in the Wordle were: kiss purple gourd hook drooping staircase muddy bitter doll glossy pluck extract.
I kiss the children with great care,
And pluck my courage high
From its drooping state of scare.
Nothing will go awry,
Or so they tell my bitter face,
Dark with unshed tears.
Glossy x-rays show my case
And highlight my fears.
My purple shirt won't show the blood,
Should it turn out sad.
My heart's so loud they hear the thud
Time to extract the bad.
Muddy sounds erupt from all
The tools they use within.
When they're done I look like a ball
Or a gourd with swollen skin.
No more hooks or saws for me;
Down the staircase I descend.
Wisdom teeth, we can agree,
Bring about the painful end.