62. February 18th, 2011 Picture.

I am glad that I can relive this now, now that the pain is gone and the memory has been partially wiped away.  I say partially because I am sure that parts of me will never, ever forget how miserable getting my wisdom teeth out was.

I'd been pretty much dreading this day since I realized I had wisdom teeth.  I knew they'd have to come out and I knew it'd hurt.  I'd put it off for years, blaming bad dental insurance as the key reason.  Little did I know it's actually classified as medical - there goes my alibi!  Once I got my job at Blue Cross, I realized I had no excuse, so I buckled down, found a doctor and made a slew of appointments leading up to my surgery.  I recruited my brother to drive me to MGH that morning, bright and early as I had to be there at 9am, uncaffeinated I might add, plus I needed someone to escort me home.  I would be, obviously, heavily medicated.  We got to the hospital, checked me in and began my 2 hours of prep.  At this point, I think I was still pretending it wasn't going to happen.  'Nope, something will come up, I'm just not going to do it, that's all!'  Nevermind the fact that I was already at the hospital, in a chair, with IV's and nurses asking me questions, it wasn't happening.  I think was I was most scared about was the medications.  I don't like feeling like I'm not in control and I was really nervous I'd wake up, relatively aware, but making zero sense.  I didn't want to be so out of it that started oversharing information with strangers, or worse, my brother.  I wanted to be able to walk out of the office on my own two feet and not have to be carried, drooling all over myself, talking gibberish - that would be mortifying.


Finally, around 11:30am, it was time for me to go into the operating room, where I was legit strapped to a chair and wrapped in multiple blankets.  I might have started to freak out here, mainly because, oh I don't know, I was strapped down?!  I started to panic, feeling claustrophobic and extremely anxious.  The fact that I was cocooned with lots of blankets and sheets really didn't help my claustrophobia.  They had the room pretty cold, so the blankets were to keep me from getting too cold during the surgery.  I'm also assuming that if I got too cold I might start shivering, in which case the doctor would accidentally slice my face, because obviously those kinds of things happen ALL the time.  I honestly should not be left alone with my own thoughts, ever.  


The doctor started to get things rolling, while walking me through the various steps.  They put me on oxygen, a big white mask that covered my entire nose, which didn't really help my claustrophobic feelings, not only couldn't I move, now I might suffocate while not be able to move.  The fact that the mask was pumping oxygen was obviously lost on me, hi I was panicking.  I tried to make myself relax, realizing that I was in a hospital and I am sure they would take good care of me.  I started looking around the room being like, THIS is a surgical room?  Is this safe?  Does it pass inspection?  Honestly, with the way my mind works, it's amazing that I even leave my house.  The final straw in my growing anxiety attack was when they started sticking things in my mouth while I was still awake.  Not only am I now lying down, I am going to choke on medical equipment AND suffocate, all while strapped in a chair!  Thankfully, the second my panic hit a high note, the doctor gave the go ahead and I was pumped full of awesome drugs.  Now, I am not a fan of drugs normally, I could stand on my soap box and talk about over medicating, but at this moment in time, the drugs were awesome.  I was out.


In what seemed like a split second, honestly, like I'd just snapped my fingers, I heard someone say my name and I was awake, ice around my face and gauze in my mouth.  I was done.  The nurse asked me how I felt and I started to speak, but lost my train of thought and started rambling.  I realized I was making no sense, not to mention the fact that I had so much gauze in my mouth I am positive that even if I'd had my faculties she still wouldn't have been able to understand me.  I gave up.

{I'm pretty sure I've looked better.}

I was taken to a recovery room where I sat for an hour to make sure I was good to go.  I just sat there, feeling slightly loopy, while my brother talked to the nurse about the benefits of owning chickens.  My brother can seriously talk about anything with anything.


I finally headed home, and spent the rest of the day sitting on the couch.  It hurt my face to lie down, so I tried to get as comfy as possible while sitting bolt upright.  I was prescribed some drugs, some really strong painkillers, but they ended up making me sick, so I put myself to bed for 4 hours.  Going from narcotics to 'Extra Strength Tylenol' really wasn't the best option, but it was the only one.  It can only get better, right?