Monday, October 27, 2008
When we left off Friday, I was explaining that the dentist said I would feel tremendous pressure. In addition to the pressure, I also felt pain. "Ac urs" is what I said as pain shot through my tooth. Of course the translation was, "That hurts!" But my frantically waving hand made translations unnecessary. The dentist stopped what he was doing and shot me with more novocain. I was now convinced that local anethestic was not the way to go, but too late for that. (As a side note, I should probably tell you that it took over six hours before all the novocain wore off.)
Then he began working on my tooth. He had already commented that my mouth was too small to comfortably house all four of those wisdom teeth--a fact my husband continues to deny. As he worked to get at the tooth, the assistant hooked her gloved finger into the side of my mouth and pulled. She continued pulling and tugging in different directions until I wondered if my face would resemble Jim Carrey's character from The Mask. Not a good look for me. My mouth may have been too small for the wisdom teeth, but it was still big enough for the dentist and assistant to stick both their hands in there at the same time. My jaw and face muscles--at least, the ones I could feel--ached and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of swelling and pain I would be experiencing tomorrow.
I heard a loud crack. My tooth had broken off. The dentist commented that he had been expecting that. Wish he'd told me to expect it! He then proceeded to use what looked like a miniature circular saw. I made the mistake of opening my eyes right as it passed in front of my face. I squeezed my eyes tight again and vowed not to open them again until I died or he left the room, whichever came first. There was a great deal more tugging and working before finally, the rest of the tooth came out. As the dentist stepped back for a moment I sighed with relief and slumped weakly back in the chair. It was finally over. A little gauze, a few final instructions and I could go home. But instead ...
I opened my eyes again to see black thread and suturing scissors. Stitches? I needed stitches?
Posted by Jill at 5:00 AM