No Picnic

It might not be the most grusome surgery possible, but when I met with the oral surgeon the other day he had three things of interest to say. First, although I was only his second patient of the day, he awarded me the "teeth of the day" award (for which I'm quite chuffed). Secondly, he asked me to reproduce*. Thirdly, I was informed that the two wisdom teeth I have were "no picnic", and that general anaesthesia was really the only option. Apart from the inherent danger, I'm quite happy about this, being the wimp that I am. Not only are they in odd places, they are each snuggled up to two nerves, and have their roots growing out perpendicular in opposite sort of directions, making a(n) (in)convenient sort of T shape.

* My upper wisdom teeth are absent, so it's something he'd like to me to pass on. Incidentally, this led into one of a number of interesting discussions we had. This one was on whether selection processes are still operating in humans.