The Recounting of Ultimate Suffering
And so goes another block of time without me writing a damn thing. Whether that speaks to my tremendously busy life or my tremendously irresponsible lifestyle, I don’t know. I can say, though, that it doesn’t speak to my lack of things to write about.
In particular, there’s one thing I’ve been aching to talk about, both physically and mentally. Almost three weeks ago I had a wisdom tooth pulled. Now I know you must be thinking that you know what I mean, and that there’s no further need to continue.
You’re wrong. Painfully wrong.
So, from what I hear, it’s commonplace for dentists to first administer a powerful shot to the roof of one’s mouth, essentially numbing the patient’s head. I had also heard, much to my concern, that Japanese doctors had radically different ideas regarding anesthetic. Before the procedure, I was a little comforted once I received the first of many, many shots. I mean yeah, the needle was plenty long and I felt quite numb, right?
When I started to feel it wearing off before the operation even started, I became concerned.
The first half of the procedure was difficult, but not unbearable. It involved the dentist sawing off the exposed portion of my tooth. This, of course, hurt. However, additional shots to the area nullified the pain fairly well, and I thought I could handle it.
And then he began to remove the roots.
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Days later, when I returned for a follow-up examination, I learned that this method was necessary because the roots of my tooth curved inwards, which made simply pulling it out impossible. I also learned that, due to this method, the roots started to sink deeper into my gum line after the upper portion had been removed. This would explain why I heard my dentist complaining, several times, that he “couldn’t see it.” Let me stress that this was not a comforting thing to hear at that time, because I sure as hell could feel him looking for it.
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This portion of the procedure, which was as long or longer than the first, was easily the most painful experience of my life. There was a point at which I stopped requesting extra shots because a) they stopped helping and b) they only slowed things down. At least the final twenty minutes were performed with me feeling every sensation with pure clarity.
I especially remember a moment where my whole body began to tremble and shiver, as if my blood pressure was dropping due to excessive blood loss. I remember thinking that this must be like what it is to go into shock, and that I was certain to pass out any second.
At one point, my dentist asked me if we should give up on the second root, as it was very difficult for him to locate it. I remember looking into his eyes and imagining him as a young college sophomore who had screwed up a major project only to say, “eh, let’s go grab a few beers and sing some karaoke.” I then pictured myself as some half-assed, discarded jaw made out of paper mache and cardboard.
Closing my eyes I said, in my most polite Japanese, that there was no way in hell I was letting him stop at this point. I then tempered it with an encouraging, “I know you can do it.” Which was a damn lie but hey, it’s not like I wanted to finish this at a later date. He got it, but not before subjecting me to another ten minutes of blind poking, prodding, and metaphorical crotch-kicking.
Before I came in that day, the longest procedure ever conducted at that clinic was one and a half hours. I broke that record by a good solid hour. My dentist jokingly congratulated me on the new record, and I could only flash a brief blood-soaked, cotton-packed smile.
I still have three wisdom teeth left.
Tagged culture, Japanese, pain
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