Wisdom....

A couple of years ago, while I was getting my teeth checked out at the School of Dentistry (a cheap but exceedingly laborious experience), I had a panoramic X-ray taken, where, for the first time, I got to see my wisdom teeth, or lack thereof. My upper wisdom's (romantically labelled 18 and 28 by dentists) were miraculously missing in action. Either never there, or reabsorbed by my body at some previous time. Unfortunately, downstairs was a different story. In *exactly* the wrong places. They are both following a broadly horizontal trajectory. The left-hand one is heading directly for the front of my mouth, bulldozing through the roots of my molars as it goes. Conveniently, its own root is gently butting up against the nerver that controls the left side of my face. The right hand side is a little more loopy. It's oriented so that it's heading sort of directly out the side of my face, so if it were to emerge, it would pop out of cheek/jaw, just in front of my ear.

My optimistic student dentist thought that if they didn't move anywhere it would probably be OK, but the evil tutor thought I should probably pop them anyway. Optimistic student said if they ever started to hurt, that that was a sign they'd need to be popped. Well, they've started hurting, so I now have an appointment with an oral surgeon in June. I hope like hell I can get a general anaesthetic. I'm far too squeamish for this sort of shit.

Failing that, I might try to get a referral from Noizy's friend, although, I think I might want more than a couple of shots beforehand:

I had my bottom two yanked shortly after arriving here in Wellington.

Having put up with a dull throb for about six months, I figured I might as well get it over and done with, so toddled off to the dentist for what must have been the first time in about six years. After the x-rays had been done, it was revealed to me that these wisdom teeth were 'big', and these wisdom teeth were 'deep'. It didn't sound good. I returned a week later, two shots of vodka under my belt to steady my nerves. God I hate dentists.

So they popped a couple of valium into me, which mingled nicely with the vodka, and, after a short chilling-out period on a bed in a waiting area, the pretty nurse guided me to ... the chair. There seemed to be a lot of industrial-strength hydraulic equipment at hand. And the rubber gloves and smocks donned by dentist and assistant didn't augur well (I got a bib the size of a table-cloth, which was also less than reassuring).

And then, well, out they came. In lots of little bits. My overwhelming memory was of the dentist saying, 'mmm, we'll have to cut this bit of bone out as well,' and of this colossal CRUNCH and bowel-shuddering vibration as they shattered the bit of my jawbone into which the larger of my two wisdom teeth had impacted. 'UCK!' I managed to gurgle through the blood.

A good mate was looking after me for the rest of the day, and he took me back to his place where we had a couple more vodkas, and then (I don't know how I managed this), scoffed down a few 'special' cookies (purely for the pain-killing aspect), whipped out the guitars, and launched into a three hour jam. Apparently (my memory grows hazy after the first 20 minutes or so) we were inspired, and actually wrote some songs that ended up being recorded on our next album (although I had to relearn them all the next time we played together, naturally -- "Jesus, I played that? I'm better than I thought!").

Pity about the bloodstains around his flat though. It looked like we'd sacrificed a cat. [Gratuitously stolen from here]