I’ve joined a new club today, one whose membership required me becoming a lesser woman. As of 11:15am ET on January 15, 2009, I became a woman with two fewer wisdom teeth and thus, a part of a club of other “lesser” individuals. Leading up to the extraction, I was struck by the people who eagerly shared their dental horror stories with me, whose eyes seemed to light up as another person in the group would pipe in with his or her own terrifying, terrible tale of teeth. It was as though they possessed secret knowledge that was only attainable through some godforsaken experience out of which one would triumphantly emerge, bruised and wounded but alive (unless, of course, one was stricken with that bane called ‘dry socket’). An instant camaraderie would spring up between those two people, once their shared bond of dental surgery surfaced. And I was left out.
So I joined the club. Reluctantly and hesitantly. I received neither laughing gas nor knock-out drugs. Only multiple shots of local anesthetic, which, after all the poking and prodding related to my recent vaccinations, seemed rather underwhelming. My wonderful dentist, whom I adore (let me know if you need a DC dentist), quickly yanked the troublesome teeth from my jaw and I was done. In 30 minutes. His only prescription was a dose of 4 Advil every 8 hours for the next couple of days.
In retrospect, I am almost disappointed that I’m not enduring the swelling, the icing, and the painkillers that go along with the removal of impacted wisdom teeth. Everyone else has way better stories. Eh. Some club.
