I am a trooper. I am mother-effing Rambo.
Had pre-molar tooth extraction, sitting in middle of kitchen, amidst the dinner plates and the pots and pans.
How this came to be, I have absolutely no idea. Perhaps it’s another momentary lapse of reason, wherein against my better judgement and prejudice, I find myself agreeing to having my tooth extracted in the my very own kitchen.
Dentist did house call—to get plaster mould of my teeth for braces. As previously discussed, I was supposed to go to his clinic today to have said extraction, but was stopped at last minute because his flight was delayed from the province so he was going to be late.
Two hours later, dentist shows up at residence with plaster mould tools—a mixing bowl, a spatula, and bags of plaster. Hm. Ok.
Session begins.
Then as we waited for the plaster mould to dry, he suggested that I get my tooth extracted in own kitchen—so that I wouldn’t have to take any more additional medications—and to lessen the risk of getting sick by travelling under ridiculously hot weather.
“Fine.” I said.
He returned from his car with his ready bag of “tools”—anesthetics, pliers, clamps, etc.
“Wow…do you always carry those with you?” I mused.
“No.” He laughed. “Only during house calls. Still have patients in Laguna to visit after this.”
“Oh…ok.” I said, feeling a tad bit more relieved that I wasn’t the only one who is going to have to undergo this quack tooth extraction procedure at home—with the absence of comfortable dentist chair, suction tubing, portable sinks and heavy fluorescent light.
Sister sat on the kitchen counter and watched as Dentist picked a small piece of cotton with his pliers, dipped it anesthetic cream and swabbing it around my bottom right pre-molar. With the side of my tongue, I could taste the strong bitterness of the cream and in that same instant I could feel a strong burning sensation along the gum line area, and that numbness was slowly creeping in. Seconds passed and I couldn’t feel my lip, and I hardly even noticed that I was salivating like a bulldog.
“Open. Say ‘Ah’.” Said Dentist, holding up at syringe of anesthesia.
I obeyed, feeling gloved hands tug my numb bottom lip downward and inject a couple milliliters of anesthesia around my pre-molar. He pricked around my tooth, until the right side of my lip had gone completely numb. So did the right side of my tongue. I felt like I was deformed….like I was missing the right side of my jaw.
“How are you? Is it taking effect yet?”
I nodded.
“Ok, I will check. Tell me if you feel any pain.” Dentist picked up one of his hooked-pick tools and started to scrape around my tooth. “Does this hurt?” He scraped.
My eyes widened as pain surged like being shocked with electricity. It subsided quicky.
Dentist took that as a ‘yes’, and injected said area with more anesthesia.
He did a couple more pokes and scrapes around the tooth to make sure all was completely numb. I had lost all feeling.
“Alrighty then.” He said, satisfied, taking in his cue to commence the ever-tricky extraction procedure.
I blinked.
Dentist turned to sister. “Could you come around your sister’s chair and hold her head for me?”
Huh?!
Sister hopped off the counter and went around to the back of my chair to hold my head. To keep it sturdily “steady”. I felt iron fetters grasp both sides of my head, holding my jaw in place.
“This is going to be really uncomfortable, but pay no attention to it. It’s all in the mind.” Warned Dentist. “This shall only last a few seconds. Keep steady, ok?”
“Uuh..kay..” I managed through gapping drooling numb mouth.
My eyes grew wide when I saw Dentist pull out a screw-driver looking tool. The tip was pointed just about the size of an ice pick. Actually, it LOOKED LIKE AN ICE PICK (but of course it wasn’t.)
“Hold steady.”
Then he placed the ice pick-looking tool in between my pre-molar and canine tooth and started to tweak it clockwise, pushing it DOWNWARD as he tweaked with utmost pressure—trying to loosen the root of the tooth.
Inspite the anesthesia, PAIN coursed through my jaw like erupting thunder. It was like having the side of your face literally hammered to particles. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. My toes curled till they were on the brink of cramp. I pushed my head against sister’s steady iron hands—eyes widening, looking for a part of the ceiling to concentrate on but to no avail. I squeeze my eyes closed.
“Hold steady…” said the Dentist sternly, his voice drowning in concentration and determination.
The heavy tweaking continued, and the yet the stubborn tooth tried to hold its place against the tremendous pressure.
Then the tweaking stopped.
Those were the BEST 8 seconds of the day--The eye of the storm--The peace and quiet. Dentist let me take a breather.
…
Then the eye of the storm passed and the strong violent winds started to pick up again. In the brief moment that I opened my eyes, Dentist was holding pliers.
Fuck…here’s the explosive finale, I thought—bracing self for the worst.
“Breathe deeply...” said Dentist.
Gathering all of my mental strength, I squeezed my eyes closed, my hands gripped around the edges of the wooden dining room chair, I took in the slowest…deepest… breath I’ve ever taken—a pace that seemingly matched the pull.
I felt a tweak, a pull, then an aching weakness…
“It’s done.” I heard the dentist say, amidst the darkness. I opened my eyes, and saw that he was holding the bloodied bastard source-of-my-five-minute-agony pre-molar between his fingers.
It looked like a bloodied fang.
Ugh…I groaned.
Then I tasted blood—warm and salty rust. It was running down my numb bottom lip.
“Rinse.” Ordered Dentist.
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