One day, I could've sworn that my molars in the back of my mouth were cracked, or missing. I couldn't find them with my tongue. There was no pain, they just weren't there. I asked people to look into my mouth, they said everything looked fine. When I went home, I asked my parents to have a look and told them about my feeling of lacking teeth. They scheduled a dentist appointment for the next day.
The next day, I went to the dentist's. He had always been my dentist; I'm not afraid of dentists. He took a quick look at my teeth and said they were fine. My gums were swollen from infection. He prescribed me with penicillin to help with the infection and recommended having my wisdom teeth pulled. He recommended a surgeon to us, then proceeded to take x-rays of my teeth.
The day after, we went to this surgeon/dentist person. I was highly disturbed by the decoration of the office. There were autographed football posters everywhere. The old, grayed surgeon/dentist person wore a cheesy thick gold chain around his hairy chest and neck. When I was seated, he took a quick look at my gums, identified exactly what type of infection it was. Though, for the life of me, I can't remember. He examined the x-rays briefly and explained to me that two of my wisdom teeth were impacted; the other two would eventually become impacted, too. From what he explained, and according to some website, I had two mesial impactions. He said that we could wait it out and do it in the summer, or some later time. Or, because I was on antibiotics for the infection in my gums, we could do it in two days. The penicillin would be perfect for preventing further infection after the surgery. My father said great and made an appointment for me. They gave me a little information sheet on their procedure and sent me home.
When I got home, I told my online friends the news and some gave me their condolences, others wanted to know what sort of goodies I got prescribed. He gave me a single valium pill. I was to be sedated via IV (morphine, if I remember). I think my regular dentist mentioned that I cannot mentally handle gas. (Some people fear needles, I fear gas.) From the other writeups, the gas seems to be popular, but the idea wasn't even mentioned to me.
Two days later, I went in doped up on valium. I felt like I was drunk. No sense of balance, but I was mentally aware, and cheery. I almost walked into the wall when I headed in to take a seat in the chair. They told me I would feel a prick in my arm, I did. It tingled from the joint of my elbow up, I was out like a light.
The process of removing my molars involved two methods. The first method was for removing the mesial impacted teeth. They cut the tooth down the middle, then pull it out, piece by piece. Sometimes they don't remove all of the pieces and it is left in your gums. I was fortunate enough not to experience this. I believe this is what crayz was talking about when mentioning "sectioning." The second method was to pluck the teeth. Yes, imagine some plier-type of tool and "yoink!"
I woke up in the middle of surgery. I tried to make the motion of asking "What's going on?" "Don't worry, you're almost done." I could see them sort of panic because I wasn't supposed to be conscious right then. They pumped me up with more intravenous drugs. I was out again. They finished up. I don't remember getting out of my seat. I don't know how long the surgery took. I just remember leaving the building, the too-bright sun was shining down on my unadjusted eyes, and I was stumbling to the van. I passed out again in the van. We didn't live far, though.
When we arrived at home, I stumbled out of the car, slumped on our front step in the entryway. Sat there for a while and tried to gather myself. Let the location soak in; I was home, the surgery was done. I was still drugged up and my father found it amusing to make me follow his finger. He even went so far as to record it on tape. I'm camera-shy and so this was the chance of a life time. After I managed to take off my shoes (I vaguely remember being helped out with this) I headed toward the couch. The doctor had prescribed me some vicodin to help me through the next few days.
I found that vicodin gives me a dull headache and preferred regular Advil and a lot of bags of ice on my face. I spent the next week or so on the couch always with ice. I saved my vicodin and gave it to someone with a migraine who preferred vicodin; Advil wasn't strong enough for her. I don't know what people like from a vicodin high. Makes me feel shitty.
When I went in for a check-up, I mentioned to the doctor I had a pain on the left side of my tongue. Whenever I talk, or exercise that muscle, its painful. A pain from inside, not a sharp pain on the surface, but not dull, either. He said it was probably due to the fact that I tried to talk when I woke up in the middle of the surgery. Sometimes, if you make the wrong move with the braces in your mouth (not the correctional braces, but the surgical ones), bad things can happen. Apparently a pain in your tongue is one of them.