No, not right now.
Also, three were impacted, but one had actually poked out and was valiantly trying to position itself– so I guess that makes it really FOUR impacted teeth, but it’s the third day of Christmas and so bleugh.
I shall now mind my manners and thank that poky tooth for making my bottom row teeth that much more crooked.
And one more thing: did you know you’re not allowed to keep your wisdom teeth? I guess that since they are bloody and they have to break them to extract them, they are considered a biological hazard. So no teeth souvenirs for me (yes, I asked).
I had all four of my wisdom teeth removed on a December 27th, but fourteen years in the past. And as it happens, it was quite a fun experience, really. I remember paying little mind to the intravenous anesthetic the nice nurse slipped through the thin skin of my hand– she must have had a deft touch, because it felt like almost nothing.
I remember talking about my Christmas presents that year. Fourteen years later I can only cringe at the thought of having been proud/coveted/actually worn a burgundy red velvet bodysuit that now I realize made me look less Victoria’s Secret (the place that actually sold the things) and far, far more Icecapades.
I also remember giggling about sharing that I’d received underwear (tee-hee!) in front of the oral surgeon who wasn’t particularly good-looking in my opinion but who had a bewitching pair of dancing green eyes that made me alternately nervous and giddy.
For my one and only surgical procedure so far in this life, the anesthesia worked like a charm and I consider myself lucky. However, I remember waking up with bloody gauze sticking out of my mouth and feeling like I’d just been mugged. Despite the local numbness in my mouth, I could feel the cold thread of drool that had worked its way out of my mouth as my body processed the last of the sedating agents.
Waking up is awkward always, but when you wake up after people have been cutting you up there is a weird sense of past vulnerability– a sudden realization that ANYTHING could have happened without your knowledge. The helplessness is a very strange sensation, however quickly it may be forgotten.
I remember drinking a cold milk shake from Jack-In-The-Box, and I remember a warm blanket. Thank you, Rev. Mom.
I remember drifting in and out of consciousness. And I remember friends who showed up out of nowhere, beckoning me to hang out. Now.
I remember threatening to spit out bloody gauzes if people tried to force me into a car.
As with the Great Chicken Pox Epidemic when I was 12, it seemed that many of the kids from my vintage –estate bottled, 1976 Cheval Meow, perhaps?– were also born with small jaws and/or rotted wisdom teeth that were clamoring to be removed around age 17.
Maybe that is an ill omen for our whole generation.
A fellow classmate had his wisdom teeth removed a few weeks after I did, but he had the good sense not to miss a Pearl Jam concert –during which he crowd-surfed, of course.
And at the end of the night, several dry sockets awaited him –along with rivers of pain.
No judgment here– just retelling. Apparently some people do feel fine enough after oral surgery.
Me? I was content to lie about in an opiate-and-diazepam haze.
After all, how often do you get to be a legal druggie?