Well, Well, Well...

Make sure you're sitting down everyone. I know I've made a lot of promises regarding this issue, but I finally did it. I finally made an appointment for my wisdom tooth surgery. I sure am going to be one fun, giant ball of anxiety until the moment of sedation!

After a lot of nudging from both personal and professional sources, I finally called for a consultation. I woke up bright n' early this morning to head to the oral surgeon to see what he had to say.

I got there and was greeted by delightful staff and a very lovely, tech-savvy office. I watched Obama make some jokes on Leno while I filled out my patient information. A cute child tried to pet my leopard flats.

"This isn't so bad," I thought. "You have been building this up for no reason. It's not like you even hate the dentist. What if you get back there and he's like 'LOLZ, U DON'T NEED TO GET THESE TAKEN OUT!' What if he lets me stay conscious? I can do this! I can conquer the world!!"

My overly nice dental assistant got me comfy, despite the fact that my view was kind of disorienting. It's weird looking at your own mouth on the big-screen.

I told her it might be scary in there since my teeth have been bothering me off and on since January. She boosted my confidence by noting they see a lot of "meth mouth." Sorry for the addicts, but not so sorry for finding a dental assistant who scratched my huge "Breaking Bad" itch. Again, what had I been worried about? THINGS ARE GOING TO BE FINE, RIGHT?!

The surgeon walked in and was beyond pleasant. He looked professional yet friendly, certainly capable of ripping my teeth out of my face bones. He kind of poked around my mouth for 30 seconds and then used my mouth map to tell me what was up.

"See these teeth here, here, and here? They're all covered in bone. Oh, and behind this one? That's a cyst, and we're going to have to test that to make sure it's not something worse. Because of all this, you're going to have to be asleep via an IV drip."

I replied with some nervous laughs and let him know I'd done way too much research, so I knew that tumors could develop because of your wisdom teeth. EHEHEH, IT'S SO FUNNY, I'M DEALING WITH THIS SO WELL, DOC! Inside my head though, my optimism was crashing and burning as my cynicism screamed "DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU'D GET OFF THAT EASY?!"

I chatted with him about my overwhelming fear of anesthesia after he let me know there was no way around sedation. The assistant had taken my blood pressure and instantly commented about how low it was, so she was there to back me up. He assured me about as much as anyone could ever hope to, and mentioned that the medicine would even make my blood pressure rise. He also promised a 20-30 minute surgery. Come on, little body, we can hold out for that long, can't we? Pretty please?

So I discussed price (JESUS.) with the insurance coordinator and made my appointment for the earliest time slot available on Halloween. I figure the juju of my favorite holiday has got to count for something.

I spent the remainder of my day starting to make arrangements for next week and trying to convince my dad to film my post-op jokes in the recovery room. He's not really a huge fan of the idea.

I'll probably say my farewells to everyone, make a last will and testament video, and cry a lot about my ultimate demise, but when I wake up on the other side four teeth and a potential tumor less, I'll feel like a big ol' dummy. A BIG 'UN! Especially since it looks like Hurricane Sandy will kill all of us that week anyway.

Halfway There

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.

I'm gonna do this.

The (Almost) End of a Chapter

Well here we are, Friday the 13th. On a day dedicated to irrational fears and bad luck, I can't think of a better day to update you on my own irrationality.

I've been playing this ping-pong for so many months that it seems almost like it's supposed to keep going. "I need to go to the dentist!" "But it's scary." "The dentist will be fine, I've never been scared of him before!" "But what if they tell you you need oral surgery?" "That's okay, it'll be worth it." "BUT WHAT IF YOU DIE UNDER ANESTHESIA?!"

Well, that bold little voice has been silenced rather suddenly by my baby sister's encounter with the teeth doctor. I know it's wrong to use your super awesome sibling as a guinea pig, but she was scheduled to get her wisdom teeth out long ago. Why not use her situation to my advantage by fiercely texting her to ask 5,000 questions and make sure she's alive?

She luckily had a great experience and had nothing but great words to say about the whole of it, and because of that, I feel free to call the dentist to make an appointment. I feel free to visit them without fear of their report. I feel free of this extremely stupid fear that has been weighing so heavily on my shoulders, day in and day out.

I can't wait to cross this off my list and move on to the next gonna, but in a superstitious move, I'm not going to be making any moves until the clock is well past midnight. I don't need any bad luck following me on my journey to wholeness!

Have a great weekend, y'all. See you Monday.

P.S. Would getting my hair cut like this on Friday the 13th be a bad move?

EFF IT, LET'S DO THIS!

(P.P.S. Please don't disown me, Kacey.)