Things went (and are going) surprisingly well: they sat me down in the operating room, gave me a radio, gassed me, jabbed me with a needle, and a little over an hour later I woke up to the nurse helping me stagger to my mother’s car.
Now I’m knocking back drugs every 4-6 house and gorging on ice cream, soup (which slightly worries me about dry socket, but I’m HUNGRY, and not for carbs, dammit!), and my Arrested Development box sets. My sweet, sweet family is taking care of me for a few days, which makes me extremely thankful I didn’t have the procedure when I was away at school.
I’m still weaving a little as I walk, but I expect to be as good as new in two days when the pain meds run out.
OK, so when I had my teeth out (Three at once) I was a sponge, only not so perky, for about three days. No pain though. Tylox. mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Wake up, pee, drink fluids, take pill, go back to sleep. Tell me when it’s Thursday.
I had all four out, and I don’t really feel any different other than frustrated that I can’t chew. The pain meds just make me sleepy, and a little hazy. On the plus side? There’s Godiva raspberry-chocolate ice cream in the freezer.
One of my greatest I-can’t-believe-I-actually-did-that moments was before having mine out… one of mine was coming in funny, and kind of growing out sideways towards my cheek. One day, while I was sitting there at work, it broke off in my mouth, leaving a super-sharp tooth fragment jabbing into my cheek. So, being the resourceful man that I am, I took my swiss army knife, opened up the nail file, and, right there at work, filed down the sharp tooth shard in my own jaw. It’s like an extremely minor, nerdy and non-life-threatening version of one of those he-man survival stories where the guy hops 50 miles out of the desert carrying his amputated left lefg, or something.
Then later I had them out, and honestly, I don’t remember a thing about the operation or the recovery.
The worst part about mine was that they had a hard time hitting a vein for the IV (which was reeeal reassuring :dubious: ). They ended up sticking me five or six times and I had suspicious-looking bruises all over both my arms for two weeks in August.
My wisdom teeth extraction was uneventful–I remember the anesthesiologist asking me to count backward from 100, and I think I made it to 97 before going night-night.
Hardest part of the procedure is what has ALWAYS been the suckiest part of surgery (including my back surgery yesterday): waking up from anesthesia = puking, and lots of it. 4 heaves yesterday, about 8-10 after my sinus surgery, and maybe just a paltry 2 after the wisdom tooth extraction. Like you, I went home to chow down on soup…but tomato soup launched forcibly out the nose AIN’T fun. Yech. Chased me away from the stuff for years.
But other than that, I healed up fine and all is well in toothless land!
Max? That is HARDCORE, dude. I feel a little more badass just reading about it.
I’ve been recovering pretty well, with no little help from some serious prescription-strength pain meds. My amazing mother has been coddling me as if I were fifteen years younger, pouring applesauce into little bowls for me to spoon-sip, buying chocolate ice cream for me to horf, watching Frasier reruns with me as I slip in and out of consciousness, and bringing me fresh drool towels for when I goober on myself.
“How do you feel?” my brother asked this morning before leaving for his job at Jamba Juice.
“My head is two feet above the rest of my body!” I replied cheerfully.
Yes, this post-op incapacitation is the life, I tell you what. Tomorrow’s plans include a surf-movie fest and mixing it up a bit with mint ice cream.
(What’s this about salt water, by the way? My dentist’s instructions were just “eat soft foods and don’t dislodge your blood clots.” Should I be gargling or swishing?)
