Pain pain go away
Physical pain doesn’t last for very long. I thought that I’d blog about it while the events are fresh in my memory. After all, sensations focus on the present and the immediate, and what we remember of things past are just what our brain has chosen to process or focus on.
On 27 April at 2pm, I was at the clinic, ready to remove my wisdom tooth. The poor tooth had a big hole in it, caused by a cavity, and its root was impacting upon my second molar. I had waited nearly two months for this surgery as I didn’t feel able to afford taking a week’s medical leave. I will never be so foolish again.
The dentist has a poor bedside manner, but he is efficient and he explained the procedure to me clearly. Throughout the operation, he also made attempts to sooth my frazzled nerves by patting my head awkwardly and telling me that I was doing well. I appreciate his efforts although his tone and lack of eye contact made it slightly difficult for me to relax completely. I also thought he was too gruff with the dental assistant so I smiled at her.
To begin with, I was not really frightened. I had, after all, arranged to visit the dentist and then to return home to rest alone. And I knew that the local anesthesia would prevent me from feeling any pain. Unfortunately, there is a lot of pressure because of the muscles in the gum surrounding the teeth, so there was still an incredible, forced tightness when he cut up my tooth and extracted it. I must have started to panic as I remember forcing myself to breathe in an out deeply and looking everywhere around the room except into the faces of the dentist and his assistant. There was whirring and buzzing sounds, and the cracks and pops from my mouth were certainly unsettling.
Fortunately, he managed to complete the operation successfully, and I received two large portions of my tooth as a souvenir. I understand why people are frightened by visits to the dentist. You cannot see what’s going on, and the instruments that the dentist wields all make strange discomfiting machine noises, and the unknown is often what scares us. The jaw ache from having to hold one’s mouth open for a long time is never pleasant either.
What affected me most about my experience though was not being able to gargle and swallow. Something as simple, natural and important as smiling, or speaking; laughing, chewing or swallowing, became strenuous as I had little control over my facial muscles, still numb and cramp and rubbery from the injections. I drooled and dribbled like a stroke patient, water leaked out from my nostrils when I tried to swallow and I felt incredibly ugly, thinking my left cheek had swollen to thrice its size although a check in the toilet later on revealed that the swelling was in fact slight. I immediately wished that Bubu was around to hold my hand, and I blinked back tears while the dentist patted my shoulder awkwardly and shooed me out after informing me that taking a taxi shouldn’t be a problem since I hadn’t lost my ability to speak.
On the long journey back, I bit on the piece of gauze and hoped that the numbness would go away. Unfortunately, the bleeding did not stop till much later, and the numbness was replaced by an awful pain that even Ponstat could not alleviate. Even lying down or swallowing the tasty fish porridge Bubu had bought took a heck of an effort. I wished that I would just die, what with the throbbing in my mouth, my lack of strength and the phantom pain in my now hollow gum.
Luckily for me, adequate rest and the meds meant that on Saturday I was able to eat bread, laugh at Bubu’s antics, play with Babo and swallow un-self-consciously. I am thankful that I managed to make it to Ikea, and sit here typing without being too mindful of my wound. The stitches above my newly formed soft, raw and tender gum are quite interesting to lick, and I think my husband’s been the mostly lovely nurse I could have.
I give blood regularly, fell down a flight of bus steps forehead-first when I was six, twisted both ankles twice in my teenage hood, skinned my knees and elbows and calves on several occasions, was hospitalized for a week for a viral infection, had an op to remove scar tissue from my chin, and I remember that it all felt terrible but I made it through and I cannot really feel anything even if I say that I remember all those experiences being excruciating. Frankly, I cannot imagine how people recover from broken thigh bones or having four wisdom teeth taken out all at once. But I suppose, as I mentioned at the start of my long essay, physical pain goes away, so I am quite certain that in two week’s time I will hardly feel anything much about the gap in my mouth (pun fully intended). Since mothers all claim that childbirth the second or third time around is always significantly easier, I live in the hope that extracting my other lower wisdom tooth will be a less significant event. And that someday I’ll not chicken out at the prospect of childbirth.
