Wisdom No More

I have less wisdom than most, as demonstrated in the fact that I was only blessed with one third molar.

While it was originally determined that my big mouth had room for this lone molar, this decision was ultimately thrown out when it was discovered that the tooth was coming in crooked.

Thursday morning found me at an oral surgeon for a dreaded extraction. Having nursed Eric through his recovery from four impacted wisdom teeth, I was skeptical as to my ultimate prognosis, especially since I wouldn't get the joy of going under (rumor had it that the worst part was the sound effects).

I worked studiously on my sock until they called me back, where they encouraged me to knit during the 12-minute video, since I was sure to have experience knitting while watching TV. I am not one to disappoint, so when the attendant left the room, I grabbed my camera to document the occasion.

As the oral surgeon surveyed my x-ray, I asked for a ballpark estimate as to how long this tooth removal would take.

"One minute," he surmised. "It doesn't take much training to do one as simple as this."

Sure enough, when my time came, the oral surgeon confirmed the local anesthetic was doing its job, placed a tool in my mouth, and then suddenly they were rinsing the area and telling me to bite down on the gauze now present. I'm not even sure thirty seconds passed. Due to this, I was told I should have neither pain nor swelling.

After hearing of this recovery, a friend grudgingly said, "I bet you'll be one of those people that will have an easy delivery some day."

One can only hope.