I won't say the experience of having my ancient wisdom teeth extracted was pleasant, but it was far more cheerful than, say, decapitation. However, I started the month of November with five more teeth than I have now. And frankly, I think that is significant and that a pity party should be scheduled immediately.
I don't remember much. I sat in a nice chair with a beautiful view. The nurses hooked me up to the laughing gas. And suddenly, I felt so amazing. Who cared about the view? The view must be intended for the staff. Every single nerve in my entire carcass waved in unison like grass in the wind with the most intense pleasure. Why had I been dreading this experience so much? And why don't I go to the dentist for any silly reason and demand this laughing gas stuff at least once a week? That was some really good shit.
If I had access to laughing gas all the time, I would never be able to hold down a job. Ever.
The last thing I remembered is the dreaded oral surgeon poking me in the shoulder like a cow and asking the nurses, "Is she asleep?" They answered no, and then he popped the stupid bite block in my mouth. This time I didn't mind the bite block. It allowed me to relaaaaaaaxxxxx my jaw. And that's when my mind shut down quickly and gave in to whatever happy juice was coming through the IV. I didn't need to squeeze the surgeon's balls or anything.
When I awoke, I demanded to know when the IV was going to be started because I wanted to be sedated - damn it! But it was all over. All I could do at that point was begin fussing about when I could go home. They wanted to keep me because my blood pressure was too low. I didn't want to explain that the low blood pressure was because I was prepared to do anything - including acting dead - if it meant getting more of that delicious laughing gas.
Maybe I will get lucky and a cavity will be discovered during my post-surgery checkup next week?
