pain and (small) potatoes
Half of my wisdom teeth were extracted yesterday. I look like a squirrel that’s harvesting for the winter, except I’m hoarding white blood cells. I have eight alarms set for my pills. So far, it’s been mashed potatoes and yoghurt.
I stopped enjoying mall rollercoasters for a while after puberty. I realised it was possible that whoever built it could’ve had a bad day and that daily negligence can quickly morph into catastrophe.
That feeling continued into my adulthood. The rollercoaster became elevators and RFID hotel key cards (editor’s note: cut this, it’s only funny if you’ve dated a software engineer).
And so as the Syrian surgeon dug his tools into my mouth, all I could think was that I won’t know how good he is until he either does or doesn’t give me permanent nerve damage. It went fine. I’m lucky it was a kind of surgery I can walk away from.
As I’m still on Day 2, here’s my Day 1 advice for somebody getting wisdom tooth surgery:
- It’s more uncomfortable than painful.
- Try your best to go to a doctor who looks like they know what they’re doing.
- Ask them to play relaxing music.
- Text somebody who likes you to make you mash when you get home.
- Ask for your teeth in a biohazard bag.
- Don’t go on r/wisdomteeth if you’re easily fear-mongered.
- It will probably be okay.
I had a much cooler blog post in the works before the dentist got to me, so this will have to do until I get back on the horse.