I had my wisdom tooth removed yesterday.
My wisdom tooth has been mighty bothersome over the last couple of years so I recently pottered down to King's Dental Hospital (pottered is definitely not the right word to use here. It is in Denmark Hill, the back of beyond. You don't potter, you walk briskly, hand tightly clutched around bag, machette in pocket) to get an xray.
The xray confirmed the awful truth. My wisdom teeth, lazy buggers, had grown completely horizontally. On one side especially, this was a problem. Careful years of ugly train track braces, fitted by the vulgar Birgit Jensen, had been for nothing.* All my bottom teeth had been squidged into the middle. More to the point, even under the surface it was causing havoc and might have spread decay. Gross.
So Oliyademabe, the dental surgeon, was whipping them out. But I was a 'high risk patient' because the tooth was brushing the nerve. 'Philippa', said he, 'worst case scenario - you lose all feeling in your lip. Forever...'**
They don't do general anaesthetics for this anymore. They put you under sedation.
So I rolled*** up to the hospital with my escort. The operation requires you to bring an escort because apparently the side effects of sedation are memory loss, wooziness and as I later discovered, the inability to walk.
If you don't like needles, stop reading now. Or skip a sentence.
Oliyademabe, who I will here-forthwith refer to as Oli, tapped my hand to look for a vein. He popped the needle a good two inches up said vein and said, 'Now we wait for the drugs'. I said 'Please may I go to the toilet?' For an awful moment, I panicked that sedation may lead to lack of bladder control which would have been beyond embarrassing. Having said that, it was slightly embarrassing having to walk back out into reception, past the nervous patients, with a needle hanging out of my hand and blood in the receptacle. I then had to navigate going to the loo without the use of one hand, whilst adopting the ski position, that naturally it is vital to adopt when using public toilets with no seats.
Satisfied, and a little smug at my multi-talented coordination and hamstring muscles, I returned.
Oli said****,
'Yo, Phil. You ever been sedated?'
'No'
'Nah man. Ever been drugged.'
'Uh, like, no', retorted I
'Well it's exactly the same feeling. You are going to feel very relaxed. You will be conscious and do what I ask but you will probably have no memory of it. Now you are going to feel a cold feeling running all the way up your arm...'
I literally have no memory after that. Maybe I was asleep. I vaguely remember wincing at one point and opening my eyes. Next thing I knew I was being put into a wheelchair and wheeled away.
They asked me to walk and then when I couldn't they said I couldn't go home yet. They gave me a lot of instructions which I definitely didn't listen to (hence need for escort) and then they gave me 600mg ibuprofen tablets. That is a lot of drug in one tablet. Yesterday, I had some flashbacks to things I might have said. Firstly, when they said I couldn't brush my teeth for 24 hours: 'Ew, gross.' and secondly, I asked whether I could take my tooth home with me. They said they had disposed of it and I said 'aaaaaaaawwwwwww' sulk sulk. If my mum had been there, this would no doubt have been a moment for
'When will this family ever get a good reputation?'
I learnt to walk again and so we went home.
Have I mentioned that I looked like a hamster? On one side of my face. Saggy, fat, sore jowl. Incredibly sexy.
My escort drove me back home and put me on the sofa with a wealth of film choices. I picked the easiest I could see, pressed play... and then woke up for the credits.
After a losing battle with a very delicious but evil soup, he dropped me home. Friends two and three took over caring for me duties. Friend three forgot my ailment and squeezed my face. I bled. Fun times.
I could hardly keep my eyes open. I ate a dinner of mashed potato. I had massive food envy for their chilli con carne.
They left. I felt delirious. My mouth was sore. I couldn't brush my teeth. I could taste blood. I was sexy, sore and under sedation. *****
*Not for my dad though. He always enjoyed taking us to the ageing Norwegian orthodontist who sat with her legs splayed and said 'Down't bayt me pelayse'
** Ok so let's not be dramatic but this is actually the gist of what he said. Apparently if the doc is cack-handed and bruises the nerve, this is a distinct possibility.
*** More accurate than pottered. My friend took me in his white car with blacked out windows.
**** Take the style of these conversations with a large pinch of salt. If I actually wrote down our conversations word for word, they would be dull indeed.
***** Note short sentences, often used in creative writing for dramatic effectiveness. Used here because I am tired. Oh and also, one of those things might not be true. I'm not sure which - bit delirious cos I'm sore and under sedation.,
My wisdom tooth has been mighty bothersome over the last couple of years so I recently pottered down to King's Dental Hospital (pottered is definitely not the right word to use here. It is in Denmark Hill, the back of beyond. You don't potter, you walk briskly, hand tightly clutched around bag, machette in pocket) to get an xray.
The xray confirmed the awful truth. My wisdom teeth, lazy buggers, had grown completely horizontally. On one side especially, this was a problem. Careful years of ugly train track braces, fitted by the vulgar Birgit Jensen, had been for nothing.* All my bottom teeth had been squidged into the middle. More to the point, even under the surface it was causing havoc and might have spread decay. Gross.
So Oliyademabe, the dental surgeon, was whipping them out. But I was a 'high risk patient' because the tooth was brushing the nerve. 'Philippa', said he, 'worst case scenario - you lose all feeling in your lip. Forever...'**
They don't do general anaesthetics for this anymore. They put you under sedation.
So I rolled*** up to the hospital with my escort. The operation requires you to bring an escort because apparently the side effects of sedation are memory loss, wooziness and as I later discovered, the inability to walk.
If you don't like needles, stop reading now. Or skip a sentence.
Oliyademabe, who I will here-forthwith refer to as Oli, tapped my hand to look for a vein. He popped the needle a good two inches up said vein and said, 'Now we wait for the drugs'. I said 'Please may I go to the toilet?' For an awful moment, I panicked that sedation may lead to lack of bladder control which would have been beyond embarrassing. Having said that, it was slightly embarrassing having to walk back out into reception, past the nervous patients, with a needle hanging out of my hand and blood in the receptacle. I then had to navigate going to the loo without the use of one hand, whilst adopting the ski position, that naturally it is vital to adopt when using public toilets with no seats.
Satisfied, and a little smug at my multi-talented coordination and hamstring muscles, I returned.
Oli said****,
'Yo, Phil. You ever been sedated?'
'No'
'Nah man. Ever been drugged.'
'Uh, like, no', retorted I
'Well it's exactly the same feeling. You are going to feel very relaxed. You will be conscious and do what I ask but you will probably have no memory of it. Now you are going to feel a cold feeling running all the way up your arm...'
I literally have no memory after that. Maybe I was asleep. I vaguely remember wincing at one point and opening my eyes. Next thing I knew I was being put into a wheelchair and wheeled away.
They asked me to walk and then when I couldn't they said I couldn't go home yet. They gave me a lot of instructions which I definitely didn't listen to (hence need for escort) and then they gave me 600mg ibuprofen tablets. That is a lot of drug in one tablet. Yesterday, I had some flashbacks to things I might have said. Firstly, when they said I couldn't brush my teeth for 24 hours: 'Ew, gross.' and secondly, I asked whether I could take my tooth home with me. They said they had disposed of it and I said 'aaaaaaaawwwwwww' sulk sulk. If my mum had been there, this would no doubt have been a moment for
'When will this family ever get a good reputation?'
I learnt to walk again and so we went home.
Have I mentioned that I looked like a hamster? On one side of my face. Saggy, fat, sore jowl. Incredibly sexy.
My escort drove me back home and put me on the sofa with a wealth of film choices. I picked the easiest I could see, pressed play... and then woke up for the credits.
After a losing battle with a very delicious but evil soup, he dropped me home. Friends two and three took over caring for me duties. Friend three forgot my ailment and squeezed my face. I bled. Fun times.
I could hardly keep my eyes open. I ate a dinner of mashed potato. I had massive food envy for their chilli con carne.
They left. I felt delirious. My mouth was sore. I couldn't brush my teeth. I could taste blood. I was sexy, sore and under sedation. *****
*Not for my dad though. He always enjoyed taking us to the ageing Norwegian orthodontist who sat with her legs splayed and said 'Down't bayt me pelayse'
** Ok so let's not be dramatic but this is actually the gist of what he said. Apparently if the doc is cack-handed and bruises the nerve, this is a distinct possibility.
*** More accurate than pottered. My friend took me in his white car with blacked out windows.
**** Take the style of these conversations with a large pinch of salt. If I actually wrote down our conversations word for word, they would be dull indeed.
***** Note short sentences, often used in creative writing for dramatic effectiveness. Used here because I am tired. Oh and also, one of those things might not be true. I'm not sure which - bit delirious cos I'm sore and under sedation.,
No comments:
Post a Comment