Minus wisdom teeth but plus a research project...
Week six of term and with a week of severe procrastination behind me, last Friday the universe decided to punish me for my laziness. I skipped along to my dentist's office, expecting just a check up and maybe a bollocking over my sugar habit but oh no, it was worse than that. Far worse.
Before I know it, comments are flying at me about whipping out my wisdom teeth 'now that I'm here' (what?! where's my baking soda clean gone?) and suddenly I'm on my back with a bright light being aimed directly at my eyes and my dentist is looking slightly manic as he brandishs one of those awful dental injection needles at me. After this, my whirling dervish of a dentist whips off upstairs 'to prep for surgery' (WHAT?! when did this become an operation?) and the nurse begins to ask me questions just as I lose all control of my face.
Why do they do this? Surely, when you're losing all feeling in your tongue and most of your mouth, it's best to leave the patient to sit quietly, perhaps with a magazine, rather than force them to risk the embarassing humiliation of drooling all over themselves as they try in vain to stop themselves from accidentally biting down on their numb tongues whilst simultaneously trying to answer questions about where they're going on their next holiday.
Needless to say, soon I couldn't feel a thing and my dentist reappeared, his slightly mad man-ish curls bouncing around him - aha! So, he was fixing his hair, not donning scrubs. Phew.
I will spare you most of the gory details but I will tell you this: the two top wisdom teeth popped out with no problems but my lower left, which was coming in horizontally was one bastard of a tooth.
Following my experience, I'd like to warn those of you out there, do NOT get your wisdom teeth removed when you have any vague plans whatsoever. I spent most of friday evening and the rest of the weekend high as a kite on a mixture of penicillin and super strength ibuprofen, spiked with other delightful numbing drugs, meaning there's no way that I can operate power tools, nor my car.
And now, four days on from my dentist inflicted torture, whilst the pain has subsided to a tolerable level but still to the point where loud noises make my teeth ache, I've suddenly stumbled upon the fact that my Research Project proposal form, the first step on the journey of an 8000 word dissertation, has to be ready for Thursday in some reasonably legible, coherent and fact based form.
Two days to plow through as much data as Ofcom can supply me with, in order to come up with some kind of hypothesis.
ARGH. If this wasn't bad enough, neither my flatmate nor I can figure out the intricate workings of our boiler, which we suspect might be some Ikea-like monstrosity, as the instructions all appear to be in Swedish and have apparently no mention of how to reset the timer device. I am doomed to shiver at my computer forever.
Before I know it, comments are flying at me about whipping out my wisdom teeth 'now that I'm here' (what?! where's my baking soda clean gone?) and suddenly I'm on my back with a bright light being aimed directly at my eyes and my dentist is looking slightly manic as he brandishs one of those awful dental injection needles at me. After this, my whirling dervish of a dentist whips off upstairs 'to prep for surgery' (WHAT?! when did this become an operation?) and the nurse begins to ask me questions just as I lose all control of my face.
Why do they do this? Surely, when you're losing all feeling in your tongue and most of your mouth, it's best to leave the patient to sit quietly, perhaps with a magazine, rather than force them to risk the embarassing humiliation of drooling all over themselves as they try in vain to stop themselves from accidentally biting down on their numb tongues whilst simultaneously trying to answer questions about where they're going on their next holiday.
Needless to say, soon I couldn't feel a thing and my dentist reappeared, his slightly mad man-ish curls bouncing around him - aha! So, he was fixing his hair, not donning scrubs. Phew.
I will spare you most of the gory details but I will tell you this: the two top wisdom teeth popped out with no problems but my lower left, which was coming in horizontally was one bastard of a tooth.
Following my experience, I'd like to warn those of you out there, do NOT get your wisdom teeth removed when you have any vague plans whatsoever. I spent most of friday evening and the rest of the weekend high as a kite on a mixture of penicillin and super strength ibuprofen, spiked with other delightful numbing drugs, meaning there's no way that I can operate power tools, nor my car.
And now, four days on from my dentist inflicted torture, whilst the pain has subsided to a tolerable level but still to the point where loud noises make my teeth ache, I've suddenly stumbled upon the fact that my Research Project proposal form, the first step on the journey of an 8000 word dissertation, has to be ready for Thursday in some reasonably legible, coherent and fact based form.
Two days to plow through as much data as Ofcom can supply me with, in order to come up with some kind of hypothesis.
ARGH. If this wasn't bad enough, neither my flatmate nor I can figure out the intricate workings of our boiler, which we suspect might be some Ikea-like monstrosity, as the instructions all appear to be in Swedish and have apparently no mention of how to reset the timer device. I am doomed to shiver at my computer forever.
posted by adulescent at 11:10 PM
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