mattlawyue

Two weeks ago an oral surgeon told me my lower right wisdom tooth was impacted. I said, so what? He said it should be removed to prevent complications further down the road. I said, you’re the Doc.

Yesterday I was laying back in the dentist’s chair while the assistant assembled the metal tools that would be ripping into my lower jaw. In walks Doc, who quickly goes to work. First came the Novocain, which took about five minutes for my entire right side to go numb.

I don’t get nervous when doctors work on me, partially because I’ve built up a stamina to these types of things (getting stung by a sting-ray, Lasik, etc), and partially because I hold my nerve a good amount of the time regardless of situation.

He continues to fiddle around, and I’m just relaxing, taking in the forgettable pop song coming over the speakers. There’s some poking, prodding, a tooth saw - I’m as calm as can be. And then I see it.

“Okay, now you’re just going to feel some pressure,” the Doc says.

At first I glance over and see a silver object from the reflection of his glasses. Then he brings it around with his right hand and there it is: what looked like the biggest fucking pliers I have ever seen.

“OH SHIT,” I screamed in my head.

I must have fidgeted a bit because the assistant had to tell me to relax my arm. I don’t know if I was grabbing something, but the sight of those pliers freaked me out.

In go the pliers, some uncomfortable pressure, and it’s over.

“You just gave birth to a tooth!” the Doc says.

Oh, word? I didn’t ask to see it.

My sister might ask me to help on her house this weekend. I will not be using pliers.