So there I was. Alone in the sterile hallway. From behind the big, beige doors I could hear the sound of metal hitting teeth. I was at the place where the white collar workers dictate and rule. It’s their domain. Sweaty palms. Shaking hands. Wet armpits. I was at their mercy now. The next half hour of my life belonged to them. A voice in my head trying to convince me that they know what they’re doing. Words I didn’t entirely trust seeing as no one is perfect. People do make mistakes. Even doctors. What if something goes wrong? What if the dentist has been drinking last night and his hand coordination isn’t the best? Anxiety gets a chokehold on me. One of the white doors opens and another victim comes walking out. Bright light from the room blinds me. I spot the tools of the trade in front of me, inside the room. The torture chamber. Strange, foreign equipment I wouldn’t be able to name even if I got weeks to do so. The victim was a survivor. The men and women in white had done their job. There were no casualties. Maybe I’d come walking out of that door in thirty minutes too?
“So you’re next. The operation, right?” one of the women dressed in white says. I reply with a “yes”. I wait a bit longer and the one responsible for my life for the next thirty minutes or so, comes out and greets me with a “hi”. To my surprise I’m not called in yet. He walks down the hallway and disappears from my sight. The door is still wide open allowing me to see my throne; a green, futuristic yet comfortably-looking green chair. A woman shows up and tells me to lie down in the chair. The mouth surgery specialist comes back, looking forward to finish his work day. They tell me I’m the last patient of the day. “Just don’t rush it. Rushing things is very bad. It can seriously ruin my mouth. Be careful!” I hear myself thinking. One of the assistants hands me a couple of ugly-looking glasses. I’m told to wear them for a while. Looks like something that comes with a Donald magazine. Trusting the almighty people in white, I do as I’m told. One of the things I fear the most appears in front of my eyes: the dreaded needle. I don’t fight it though. Salvation comes in a needle filled with anesthesia. Afterwards I’m given a glass of water and two white pills. Proper service, hey! One is penicillin, the other one is just a regular painkiller. Painkiller? Not a big surprise, because pain is coming. At this point it’s impossible to say at what magnitude. I can only guess. I’m a good patient. I don’t fight the dentists or their orders. I do as I’m told and swallow both pills and finish it with a glass of life’s finest drinks: H2O. A little to my surprise, I get another glass. It’s not filled with water, however. It looks sort of funky with its pink color. Looks tasty. Supposedly mouth water of some sort. I can’t knock it down just like that. I have to keep it in my mouth for a minute. I follow the order, but I feel a bit stupid sitting there, looking at the clock, wondering how the dentists perceive me. It’s all very awkward. No one says anything and I can barely hear the clock ticking. Sixty painful seconds passes. Finally. Let’s proceed.
“So this wisdom tooth of yours, it’s a difficult one” the one responsible for the operation concludes. I try to utter a “yes”, but the anesthesia is kicking in and talking feels weird. My mouth is starting to feel, in lack of a better word, funny. I experience today’s biggest surprise as they put a big, green cloth over me. Is it really that bad? I’m friggin’ buried before they have even attempted to remove the tooth. “Help! I can’t see anything” I think to myself. At the same time I feel slightly relieved at the thought of not having to wonder how stupid and scared I look to the dentists. Why? Because they can’t see me under the cloth. I’m safe. All they can see and access is my mouth, and that’s where the work is taking place today. You see, a friend is leaving me. I’m afraid I’ll score lower on IQ tests after its departure. One of those jokes again. Heard it a million and one times now. I shouldn’t actually call it my friend because it has been everything a friend shouldn’t be. It’s been raising hell in my mouth, and now it’s going to handicap my personal economy too. It got its eviction note a couple of weeks ago, but it didn’t leave voluntarily. Now it has to be thrown out by any means necessary. In this case we’re talking about the use of them foreign tools: drills, needles and whatnot. This one is about to me a goner soon!
Thankfully my operation wasn't this bad.
I’m not familiar with all of the foreign objects put in my mouth, but they are needed to get the tooth away. I’m asked to keep my mouth wide open. Sometimes even for many minutes. Tiresome. My mouth isn’t made for this, but I manage. It’s a must. The female dentist to my left tells me to shout “aaaaaaa” or something similar if I feel pain, but to my surprise I don’t feel much pain at all. God bless painkillers and anesthesia. The dentists talk amongst themselves while I lie there, hoping for it to be over soon. From what I can gather from their speech, this tooth is a tough mutha! It wants to keep living in my mouth. As a matter of fact it’s hell bent on staying. After using different tools in an attempt to remove it, it finally gives in. I thought I’d feel it being jerked out of my jaw, but I don’t. “It’s gone” the dentist says. I feel relieved. Then they start doing something else in my mouth, something that feels extremely uncomfortable. My bet is that they are doing something to prevent it from bleeding too much, but in order to do whatever the hell it is the dentist is doing, he has to put some fingers in my mouth, one of them pushing my tongue backwards, almost causing me to puke. Horrific. Thankfully the horror is over after a couple of minutes. They remove the green cloth I loved so much. Truth be told I was afraid I’d die under it too. I saw images of friends and family walking in the door, looking at the room with all the alien equipment and me lifeless in my green throne. Mouth wide open and dead eyes. Turns out that wasn’t what faith had in mind for me this day. I was a survivor, just like the guy leaving the room half an hour earlier. From this point on it’s all routine: I’m told not to exercise or expose myself to physical strain for a week, water and food is a big no-no for the next couple of hours. I’m a bit disappointed when I’m told I can’t go to the sauna either. Typical. I had booked the sauna for Saturday. It’s a no-go for me then. I’m also told to get certain types of candy from the pharmacy. Penicillin being one of them. I utter a “thank you” as I leave to the hallway where I’m asked to sit with something cold pressed against my right cheek for half an hour. I’m actually happy, albeit feeling a bit numb and “not present”. I feel a river of blood floating in my mouth. Gross, but a normal reaction to this sort of operation. After thirty minutes I walk out, one less inhabitant in my mouth, passing the water tanks, the beige doors and the posters advertising and urging people to take care of themselves and their health. As the discussion of the dentists sitting in the staff room fade away and I’m about to walk out the door, I feel happy, but at the same time I pray I don’t have to be subjected to something similar in the nearest future. Score one for the good guy.
