I already regret choosing titling this piece with “Living on a Prayer” in mind. Now I have to listen to Bon Jovi at 9:30 a.m. What am I doing with my life?
Last week, I was powering through a hefty workload at the office, dealing with the typical jaw pain that comes in and out of my life as it pleases. I figured it would be another case of “Gotchu, sucka, see ya lataaaa!” pain, but it increased ever so sharply to full-on nausea inducing aching. As a person who never has headaches felt one coming on, I knew I was in for a world of pain. My wisdom teeth opened up a can of whoop ass on me.
I had been playing a game of phone tag with my newly chosen dentist due to my work schedule and theirs, but I took a moment out of my day to shut the door and make the call back. I’d had it with the pain and I was almost there. A nice woman helped me make an appointment first thing the next day, and my wonderful boss forced me to go home and rest. I felt awful for many more hours, but was more comfortable being on my couch and knowing in only hours that I would finally be boarding a train to Healthy Town.
I woke up way too early the next morning and still managed to be late driving to the edge of town to find my new mouth doctor. I was so happy to find it both calming and fancy. I dig fancy.
My hygienist brought me back immediately to take many an x-ray. I finally saw the devious little fuckers who have been torturing me for months, and I was surprised to see that they didn’t look all that abnormal. In fact, they looked kind of non-threatening. I’d maybe even say cute, but they’re fucking teeth.
I got a hardcore cleaning and consulted with the bigwig dentist for which the firm is named. She gave me some important advice about my genetically soft teefies and said they’d have to seal the shit out of them basically. I have no qualms with that. These supple babies have been causing me trouble my whole life. It’s about time someone stepped up to the plate and said “Hey, you’ve got a nice smile, but your teeth are like sponges. Let’s counteract that, shall we?”
Other than that, I came away with a super polished grill and a new love for flossing. (I’m obsessed.) I have to most likely get these wise molars removed, for which I have to be referred. They let me choose my referral myself, which is a bamf move if I do say so myself, and I don’t say bamf because it’s stupid.
Today I have to do some research on referral forms and then I’ll be calling my self-selected oral surgeon. I’m still not groovy with the idea of being knocked out, but with many parental pep talks, advice from my sister, encouragement from my man, and a super stellar new dentist, I think it just might be alright.