I was 17 years old and on vacation with my family in the Great Smoky Mountains in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. I was irritable (more than usual) and felt kind of blah. I don't remember if I had much pain but I was a pain to be around. We left for home a day or two early - being in a small cabin for a week with a surly 17 year old probably gets old quickly. Mom knew it was my wisdom teeth, even though I didn't and she scheduled me with our dentist. I went in for the usual checkup and he sent me to an oral surgeon. I remember being in the waiting room, hearing the whine and shriek of the instruments and having the desire to run away. I was terrified.
I didn't want to be unconscious for the procedure, just to be numbed by Novocaine and stoned with nitrous oxide. The nurse asked me all the pre-procedure questions and medical history, took my blood pressure and oral temp to make sure my impacted wisdom teeth weren't infected, which would delay the surgery. Everything was good, so she put the mask over my face and told me to inhale a few times then breathe normally.
I started breathing in the cool air and everything was going well when all of a sudden, it hit me. My heart seemed to skip a beat and my mind felt like it was swirling. It startled me and I jumped a little off the chair. The nurse asked me if I was okay and I felt too embarrassed to tell her how weird I was feeling and besides, it was difficult to talk through the mask. So I sat back and just let things happen. I knew that if something went wrong, she was there to take care of me.
They had let me bring my Walkman with me so I could listen to the radio while the surgeon operated. I was getting quite stoned from the nitrous and felt loose. My nervousness was replaced by "Whatever, let's just get this over with."
The doctor told me to open wide so he could examine me and as soon as he grabbed for his drill, the Bryan Adam's 1980's song Cuts Like a Knife came on the radio. I almost giggled when I heard it. What were the chances of that. After that, the gas was increased and I remember little. I have vague recollections of smoke, dust, water, a strong pressure/pulling/yanking sensation as well as a crunching sound as he cut all four teeth from my jawbone. I remember him using pliers and feeling pieces of my teeth sitting on my tongue like pebbles. I smelled something burning and tasted it on my tongue, along with blood and cool water.
I don't remember anything else, the recovery room or anything until it was time to see my Mom again, who had been sitting in the waiting room. I was feeling funky from the nitrous and started crying. Mom tried to settle the bill and get post-operative orders but I kept pulling her away from the checkout window and towards the door to leave, while still sobbing.
Mom and Dad asked me if I wanted to stop for a milkshake or something since I couldn't eat anything for a few days so we went to McDonald's for a vanilla shake but it tasted like blood and vanilla swirl. I don't recommend it.
My Dad, jackass that he is, decided to film me walking around afterwards, looking like a chipmunk with giant, swollen cheeks. He asked me stupid questions, like, "Does it hurt?" I was pissed so I bitterly asked, "Did it hurt when you had your teeth pulled; all of them?" Because he had terrible teeth and started wearing dentures in his 40's. He followed me around all week, taking video while I slept on the couch in the living room in my pain reliever haze from hell. The doc had originally prescribed Vicodin but it made me feel too funky so the doc called in Tylenol 3 with codeine for me to take instead.
The next week, school started. My junior year. Unfortunately, my lower left jaw because infected and filled with pus. My face was swollen and misshapen from all the fluid and I could not speak clearly. I felt like the Elephant Man or something. I was so embarrassed. But also felt like hell and was in a lot of pain so I was ready for it all to be over. So I went back to the surgeon and he had me open my mouth wide again so he could drain the pus from my jaw. There was quite a bit of it so he had to use a large syringe. He didn't numb me for the procedure since he'd just have to stick me twice instead of once and he filled the syringe with some nasty yellow-green and red fluid. Some of it got on my tongue and it tasted absolutely foul and metallic from the blood. He prescribed an antibiotic for me and sent me on my way.