“Relax,” said the surgeon, as my wet palms grabbed his wrist the fourth time.
I idled. Half-lying, half-sitting, gaping at the roof attempting to pray for it to be all over without my knowledge and all the same petrified I would pass out, so much so I mumbled: “How long will this take.”
“Few minutes more.” He waited for me to chill as I counted deep breaths, when I heard. “What you are feeling is pressure. Not pain. Relax. We are almost there…”
The last time I laid helplessly listening to these words was in the delivery room. But then, I vividly remember the feeling was pressure and that pressure was pain.
“Let loose”, he said, pulling my cheek apart as if gutting a fish and I felt the hammer come down on my wisdom tooth. I shut my eyes tight, fooling my hyper-working brain that if I don’t see the armoury over my head, it would not hurt. But my hands once again attacked him.
He stopped for the third break in the 15-min procedure, trying to pacify me. “You are numb. I cut your jaw bone. Did you feel?” I grunted. I drilled around. Did you even know?” I grunted again. “It’s not pain. It’s just a sensation you are feeling. Nothing to fear. All I need to do is extract it out. The major part is over…”
|Two days after the procedure…a ‘swollen’ selfie
Yeah, I thought to myself. The major part was, indeed, over. It had all begun the previous day, with a casual visit to our dentist to clean my teeth, when I mentioned that one of my wisdom teeth acts up once a while. After examination, he revealed that half of that tooth is still embedded inside and has no space to pop out. “It’s better to remove it.”
And before I knew, a wire with a black square peg went on rampage inside my mouth clicking X-Ray. “Let the tongue loose. I need to place this beside the tooth”, the dentist said, thrusting the peg almost into the epiglottis and I wrenched. “Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself,” he cautioned.
“Let me place it,” I volunteered. Graciously he agreed and waited patiently checking the monitor screen. “No. I need your tooth,” he said, pulling at my cheek, maneuvering the wire back and pushing it deep within…all at once and I jumped up. “Please! I’m petrified of puking.” He smiled, “okay, we’ll make do with this.”
What a gem of a dentist!
“So, we’ll fix it tomorrow. How about 2pm?”
“Fine by me.”
“Good. I’ll pass on the X-Ray to the surgeon…”
“This is not a normal procedure. Your jaw bone needs to be operated upon to extract the tooth…”
What did I get myself into!
“Now I felt my alive cheek being slapped. Relax,” I heard the surgeon say the nth time, when my gem-of-a-dentist said, “Maybe she’s in pain, it’s not numb…”
“No way. I’ve injected the [some name I can’t remember now] nerve. This is phobia, doctor…” Then he turned to me, “the only other option is to give you general anesthesia. But why go for such a step, when we have come this far. It’s almost over.”
I gripped the armrest with both hands and squeezed my eyelids tighter, as I felt the jaw almost rip apart from my face. Tapping me again, he stopped: “Open your eyes. Now I’m going to try moving the tooth. You’ll feel the pressure. Okay. It’s just pressure.” I took a deep breath. “Relax. Keep your eyes open. Just a couple of minutes more.”
Was he afraid I’ll pass out?
Forced to keep my eyes open, I saw a heavy-looking tool go inside my mouth and I tensed. “Relax” he said and I decided to look elsewhere. That’s when for the first time that noon I looked at him.
Damn it! Thick shapely brows, unusual for a man, set on light skin above dark eyes shaded inside long lashes…His gelled hair gleaming under the surgical light, with two thick strands hopping over to the side brushing his broad clear forehead made me trace his chiselled nose from under the mask. His fingers were long within the off-white glove going to and fro from inside my mouth to the assistant to his right. The coffee-brown button on the carelessly-rolled-up white linen sleeves, made me squint down to check and lo! he was in denims!
“It’s over!” he said, dropping the mask down on his neck.
“Really?” Tall men in white-denim combination have always distracted me.
Me, ma’am!! Why…
“I’ll prescribe a painkiller. Don’t worry, You’ll be fine.”
Uh! Fine!! That night, I tossed in bed popping painkillers. I was on baby food for the next few days. A month later, I’m still cautious on using my right molars… And I thought giving birth was the most traumatic experience.
However, am yet to figure out the consequences of the two experiences… The other day my baby said, “You know what mamma, now you should stop advising me because your average wisdom is less than mine!”