Wisdom teeth, in my opinion, are almost as useless as condoms in The Vatican. There is no use for these unnecessarily large, painful, corrugated masses of bone and nerve tissue. They sit there, cause huge, no, murderous quantities of pain. I would rather shave my face with a dehydrated and slightly disintegrated starfish than to deal with wisdom teeth. Well I doubt any of you would seriously read this post just to hear me complain severely about the vestigiality and workings of a wisdom tooth.
No, I am here to explain about my extraction of these bastard children.
It was, (I'm not actually quite sure what day it was but I know it was a Friday last year.) I wasn't really concerned at all about my appearance considering the fact that the dentist was going to have my mouth pried open wider than a Barbarian during a battle cry. I walked in, sat down in the chair, got a mask put on my face, got an IV in my arm, and this is where the fun began. For unknown and inexplicable reasons, when I started to "fade into unconsciousness" I felt like I was dying or suffering some type of irreversible coma. I remember having the pulse oximeter attached to my finger and as I began to "die" I remember it speeding up erratically like an old woman who was driving and just saw and sign for Old Country Kitchen Buffet. I then passed out.
Later on I remember telling my dad that "I was fine, I could walk" (which at the time required all mental cognition and motor skills which are sadly underdeveloped because I am the most torpid person one will ever meet). I stumbled to the car worse than an ivrogne and I was mumbling just as bad as one. Then came the hallucinations. Thee weren't your terrifying, scare the fuck out of you type of hallucinations. These didn't scare me, until I finally comprehended them.
I was terrified to learn that I once thought I was in Las Vegas running in a casino, and that I thought I was a Girl Scout in New York and I was selling cookies. Then I was informed that the nitrous oxide caused me to became a steroid-abusing maniac who attempted to run away. After the surgery I attempted to run, escape, avoid the dentist's office at all costs. I had to be held down by two people for thirty minutes because for unknown reasons I was acting like a homicidal maniac. The whole event was then finalized by the fact that Vicodin, the most abused narcotic ever created, does not work on me. At all. Not one bit. Not even a smidgen, and mind you that smidgens are very small.
Then became the three day recovery which included but not limited to:
Law and Order : SVU
Egg Salad Sandwiches
Pudding
Smoothies
Chinese Food
Bleeding Gums
Making fun of my doped-up sister who got her teeth out at the same time
and lastly, PAIN.
No, I am here to explain about my extraction of these bastard children.
It was, (I'm not actually quite sure what day it was but I know it was a Friday last year.) I wasn't really concerned at all about my appearance considering the fact that the dentist was going to have my mouth pried open wider than a Barbarian during a battle cry. I walked in, sat down in the chair, got a mask put on my face, got an IV in my arm, and this is where the fun began. For unknown and inexplicable reasons, when I started to "fade into unconsciousness" I felt like I was dying or suffering some type of irreversible coma. I remember having the pulse oximeter attached to my finger and as I began to "die" I remember it speeding up erratically like an old woman who was driving and just saw and sign for Old Country Kitchen Buffet. I then passed out.
Later on I remember telling my dad that "I was fine, I could walk" (which at the time required all mental cognition and motor skills which are sadly underdeveloped because I am the most torpid person one will ever meet). I stumbled to the car worse than an ivrogne and I was mumbling just as bad as one. Then came the hallucinations. Thee weren't your terrifying, scare the fuck out of you type of hallucinations. These didn't scare me, until I finally comprehended them.
I was terrified to learn that I once thought I was in Las Vegas running in a casino, and that I thought I was a Girl Scout in New York and I was selling cookies. Then I was informed that the nitrous oxide caused me to became a steroid-abusing maniac who attempted to run away. After the surgery I attempted to run, escape, avoid the dentist's office at all costs. I had to be held down by two people for thirty minutes because for unknown reasons I was acting like a homicidal maniac. The whole event was then finalized by the fact that Vicodin, the most abused narcotic ever created, does not work on me. At all. Not one bit. Not even a smidgen, and mind you that smidgens are very small.
Then became the three day recovery which included but not limited to:
Law and Order : SVU
Egg Salad Sandwiches
Pudding
Smoothies
Chinese Food
Bleeding Gums
Making fun of my doped-up sister who got her teeth out at the same time
and lastly, PAIN.
