On Thursday March 3rd, I had the pleasure of going to the dentist and having one of the most entertaining and exciting surgeries of my life; well, I hope it’s the most exciting. The whole event is a very vivid and surreal. For one I did not know what I was in for; I don’t think anyone imagines the outcome of surgery. They’re just trying to get through the beginning.
The dentist either tells you to count backwards from 10 or constantly asks, “Can you feel this?” Everyone has his own preconceptions of what a dentist is, or what they’re like. I am here to say, this dentist does not follow along those lines at all. He was a 60-year-old man, very sweet and caring. He really wants the best for his patients, always greeting you with a smile, and shaking your hand. I felt gracious and thankful to have such a great dentist on this fateful day.
The first thing that happened when the nurse called my name was an attack of slight jitters; my nerves were okay because I’ve had surgery before. The nurse had little side notes to entertain me, even funny stories to take the seriousness off the moment. Although sitting down in the golden-yellow dentist chair was comforting, a little too comforting for my taste; mostly because I should be on edge, but her caring nature had melted any horrific images I had implanted in my brain before. I felt even more at ease when I told her, “I think I’ll stick to just the gas.” She smiled, raising her eyebrow as if to ask if I was sure. I was certain. I have been uneasy about being asleep while people are doing things to me. It is just not my cup of tea. Putting the mask over my nose was very strange and new, but the gas that I started to inhale made me care less and less.
By the time the dentist came in I had no idea where I was; it was in between on a cloud and half alive. My mental state had slipped, and I didn’t know how to greet him; I settled on sort of a half smile mixed with a, “hey?” He laughed, and then told me what operation I was going to be having today. I nodded at anything and everything.
Soon the operation was underway and they began to inject the numbing solution into my gums. I did not notice much of anything; the pain was moderate, but soon I felt nothing, not even knowing if my mouth was open or not. I put on headphones to drown out any horrific sounds I might hear, but to my surprise there wasn’t much to hear except the, Smashing Pumpkins singing about not caring. I felt it was a perfect fit. The jarring of my head was moderate as well, from side to side and a little forceful. The only point where it got unbearable was when he pulled out the drill on my top left tooth. He exclaimed to me that I had an impacted tooth, but this knowledge had slipped my mind. I was now drowned in songs by Everclear.
After he was done, I muttered obscure words to him, and finally shook his hand, but this time to thank him. He had my mother come in to see me, and he told her I was the toughest patient he’s had, a real trooper. I laughed, which killed me. The jitters by this time had completely subsided. I was thrilled, but that was probably the gas.
The ride back began like any other day of being picked up from school: questions upon questions. I tried to talk to the best of my ability; my mom would catch a few words here and there, but never the whole thing. I felt incredibly frustrated with my scenario; knowing I would be like this for some time greatly impacted my thinking. I felt anxiety, but I shouldn’t have; I had the next day off, then the weekend. It hit me harder and harder. The desire to yell became unbearable, an attention-breaker, anything, but I did nothing. The gas had worn off and a feeling of frustration and anger hit me. I was a completely different person than I had been earlier that morning; I had four teeth missing and a desperate desire to fix things that I had no way of fixing. I looked over at my mom and said one clear sentence: “This Sucks!”
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