Ice for 24 Hours

"Apply ice pack to the affected area for 20 minutes every waking hour for the first 24 hours". This was among a series of instructions on a post-operative care sheet provided after my tooth extraction procedure yesterday. Others including "fluids are important", "cool fluids are best", and "take pain medication" indicated to me that perhaps a couple extra "brew-skis", well chilled, would be just what the doctor ordered. When I returned home after my 3pm procedure yesterday, I chilled on the patio while the local anesthetic wore off and reflected on the previous couple hours.

I'm not strong when it comes to anything dental or medical. I've been known to "self-anesthetize" (pass out) before, during, or after procedures that even girls and small children can handle with class and dignity. That's right Bunky... I'm a big wuss.

I had nothing but the best in an oral surgeon. He had more initials after his name than I can remember... DDS, MD, S&M, and DT (Doctor of Torture?). Since he was made clearly aware of my propensity to go off to la-la land at times like this, he made sure I was hooked up to both the oxygen line and the nitrous oxide line and turned the valves to "max".

The tooth in question was deteriorating due to something called resorption -- a process where the tooth structure is eaten away by the activation of the bodies innate ability to remove mineralized tissue. My body was turning on it's own tooth. It's unknown exactly why this happens. Regardless, the tooth has got to go.

After being strapped onto a chair in the torture chamber, having the aforementioned gasses hooked up, and a little weak Novocaine injected here and there for my "comfort", the team went to work.

"You might feel a little pressure now... does it hurt?"

"gahh" (yes!)

"Good. Now more pressure." The vice-grip he had clamped to the tooth was being twisted and strongly wrenched back and forth, to and fro, up and down -- like you do when trying to loosen a tent peg driven deeply in hard soil.. "Now you'll hear and feel a pop any time now..."

"gaahhh" (I can't stand much more of this!)

CRACK
(Pop?  Crack!... similar to what you'd expect when biting a corner off a china dinner plate. Man-O-man)

"There, we got the crown off... now we'll go after the roots... this is totally expected in cases like this. It's going to come out in pieces. You still OK?"

'gwwahh" (No, I'm NOT OK!)

If I could have talked I would have. I would have confessed to anything they'd ask me to confess to. Alright, maybe I plotted against the government... OK, I stole the Hope diamond ... and I was responsible for any... no, all, the unsolved murder cases in the file. Anything! Just make this be over.

"Now you'll hear a loud drilling sound as we dig out the roots." A slow whirring, grinding sound accompanied by matching vibrations followed.

"ggraahhaa" (I think I'm dying!)

"Are you still with us Thom?" Long pause... "Thom?"

"ggaah" (I'm goin' fast!)

A series of grinding, drilling, and popping sounds filled the torture chamber for the next few minutes. I don't know if it was the nitrous oxide or being driven to within a millimeter of unconsciousness and death, but I felt like I was outside of my body... a simple distant observer... curious why anyone would actually permit this to be done. I was a happy guy when I walked in the front door just a few minutes earlier... no pain... feelin' good. And now this... just because some people said the tooth had to go. I was thinking the old tooth really wasn't such a bad tooth after all. It had served me well for over 50 years. It wasn't a major problem, was it? Why didn't I just decide to live with it a while longer. I mean, what's the worst that could happen... that it'll eventually fall out by itself?  Since I was already out of my body I thought I'd try to transport myself to the Islands, maybe Aruba, where I could just fall asleep on the sand under an umbrella and wait for this bad dream to be over. Hmmm.

Every "crack" of another small section of well-embedded root brought me back. I sensed both the surgeon and the assistant grimacing and shaking their heads in frustration with each "crack"... like an excavator being frustrated by an immovable boulder... only able to break off chunks but not get the whole thing.

"Just a little more... we're almost done"

"Aarrgh gwaaa" (You better have a good lawyer!!!)

"There! I think that went pretty well. I knew it'd be a tough one"

"Garhh" (dear Lord... did I survive?)

I guess it wasn't so bad after all.

Back home, on the patio,
nursing a bottle of Mr. Daniels Amber Restorative...
T