Didn't realize insurance covers torture
[Orin Scrivello, the sadistic dentist]
Orin: [singing] I thrill when I drill a bicuspid / It's swell though they tell me I'm mal-ad-just-ed.
Five points if you can name the movie and the actor who sang those words.
What kind of disturbed person grows up and wants to be a dentist? Wanting to be a proctologist or urologist is one thing; dreaming of becoming a dentist is just sick. These barbarians profit from torturing innocent people, like me. Plus, dentistry has to be one of the least advanced fields of medicine. The whole practice seems so archaic, straight out of an old Saturday Night Live skit, what with the pliers and copious amounts of blood.
Anyway, as you may have guessed, the day finally came: I got a wisdom tooth taken out on Thursday. The night before I went down to my beach bar for some margaritas and ran into my ex-boyfriend (yeah, you know the one) and his friend J, the tattoo artist. I talked to the ex for a long time and I mentioned to him and J that I was getting my tooth pulled.
J asks, "so, you're getting put under right?"
"No, I can't afford it."
J's mouth dropped open. The many-splendored exbf contorted his face and whipped out his money clip to offer me some extra cash for an oral surgeon to knock me out. Keep in mind that both of these men are tattooed, pierced tough guys, J more so than the ex. The fact that J -- tattooed from neck to feet and wearing those gian plug-type earrings -- said he would never do what I was about to do because of the potential for pain kinda scared me a little bit.
He was right, though. The experience was awful. I mean, I didn't think I was going to be pleasantly surprised at any point during the visit ("You know the sound of my tooth cracking isn't so bad after all!"), but I didn't expect it to be as terrifying as it was.
First, my dentist really pissed me off. I walked in and she asked me if she was taking out both of my bottom wisdom teeth. At no point have we ever discussed that. The last I heard, my left tooth didn't even need to come out. Then she asked which tooth I was getting removed. Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't I pay her to know this information?
She asked if I took penicillin the day before -- naturally, she really bombarded me with questions after she numbed my mouth, so all I can do is nod and drool. I did not take any penicillin prior to the surgery because I didn't know I was supposed to. She said she had thought that she had told me to do that during my last appointment, some 6 weeks ago. She gave me the benefit of the doubt and then asked if I had taken Vicodin beforehand. I nodded my head yes; I took Vicodin an hour before the surgery because the directions on the bottle said to.
Getting very snippy in her thick accent, "Well, if you took the Vicodin beforehad, then I know I told you to take the penicillin. You know what happens to people who don't follow directions? Their surgeries get infected, that's what."
Wow, what words of comfort. I was already crying and trembling like Foxy does during a thunderstorm. I know she never told me to take penicillin prior to the surgery; if she really wanted me to, she should have written it on the prescription like she did for the Vicodin. She continued to shoot my gums with Novocaine; every time I shuttered, she'd say something helpful like, "It wouldn't hurt so much if you had taken that penicillin yesterday." She really seemed hell-bent on making feel stupid; she also was surprised when I was crying and shaking, almost as though she couldn't understand why anyone would be nervous about dental work.
After her assistant helped me swallow four penicillin pills, they got down to business. It was at this point that I really wished that there was a Novocaine for ears. You know, I'm really glad I couldn't feel exactly what they were doing, but I heard everything. EVERYTHING. The scraping and the cracking and the drilling...oooh, yeah, that's going to be nightmare fodder for quite some time.
Her questions didn't stop while I had four hands prying my mouth open and a multitude of dental instruments hanging out of it. "You jumped? What is wrong? Does your jaw hurt? What do you want me to do? This wouldn't be so bad if you had taken that penicillin."
I just whimpered in response. Whimpered and prayed for a quick death.
The procedure really took a turn when I heard her say the words, "pliers please." She said I would feel a "little bit of pressure"; these words were followed by what sounded like my jaw cracking as she tried to pry the offending tooth out of my gum. The wrenching and the yanking continued for quite some time. She did everything short of stand up and put her foot on my forehead to push my tooth away from my mouth as she pulled with her pliers. That drill sounded like a flock of freaking songbirds after the plier experience.
At long last, though, the tooth was finally out, in many pieces. She stitched up the socket and made me look at it in a mirror, which caused me to convulse. She also wouldn't let me leave until I looked at the bloody pieces of my tooth, which was now fractured into no fewer than 7 pieces (she was surprised that I didn't want to keep it. My weird little sister was upset when she found out I didn't save the bloody tooth fragments for her). I glanced down at my blood-splattered bib and noticed that she was wiping blood off her glasses. Ah yes, clearly, I had no reason to be nervous about this procedure.
The first night home was incredibly uncomfortable. The gauze stayed in my mouth for four hours, filling my mouth with the pleasant iron-y flavor of blood, and I iced my face for 12 hours. I also threw up three times that night (thank you, four penicillin pills) adding the extra kick of stomach acid on my open wound, which felt great. Good freaking god, I can't believe people get their wisdom teeth removed as a preventative measure; mine had to come out. But others get theirs taken out "just in case." These people are all masochists. I'm sure they sleep naked on beds of nails with fireants.
Two days later, and it still looks like I'm saving nuts for the winter in my right cheek. The pain comes and goes, and my speech is only moderately impeded, so I think I'm on the road to recovery. I'm not getting any other teeth removed until scientists come up with a more civilized extraction method.
Apropos of nothing, the exbf talked me into going to Costa Rica for an extended period of time; he leaves on Sunday for the next month (although I'm pretty sure he'll be moving there). Lots of weird things have happened this week that have caused me to want to leave the country and signs keep pointing to Costa Rica. I'll have to explain later.
Plus, Costa Rica is really far from my demonic dentist.
Orin: [singing] I thrill when I drill a bicuspid / It's swell though they tell me I'm mal-ad-just-ed.
Five points if you can name the movie and the actor who sang those words.
What kind of disturbed person grows up and wants to be a dentist? Wanting to be a proctologist or urologist is one thing; dreaming of becoming a dentist is just sick. These barbarians profit from torturing innocent people, like me. Plus, dentistry has to be one of the least advanced fields of medicine. The whole practice seems so archaic, straight out of an old Saturday Night Live skit, what with the pliers and copious amounts of blood.
Anyway, as you may have guessed, the day finally came: I got a wisdom tooth taken out on Thursday. The night before I went down to my beach bar for some margaritas and ran into my ex-boyfriend (yeah, you know the one) and his friend J, the tattoo artist. I talked to the ex for a long time and I mentioned to him and J that I was getting my tooth pulled.
J asks, "so, you're getting put under right?"
"No, I can't afford it."
J's mouth dropped open. The many-splendored exbf contorted his face and whipped out his money clip to offer me some extra cash for an oral surgeon to knock me out. Keep in mind that both of these men are tattooed, pierced tough guys, J more so than the ex. The fact that J -- tattooed from neck to feet and wearing those gian plug-type earrings -- said he would never do what I was about to do because of the potential for pain kinda scared me a little bit.
He was right, though. The experience was awful. I mean, I didn't think I was going to be pleasantly surprised at any point during the visit ("You know the sound of my tooth cracking isn't so bad after all!"), but I didn't expect it to be as terrifying as it was.
First, my dentist really pissed me off. I walked in and she asked me if she was taking out both of my bottom wisdom teeth. At no point have we ever discussed that. The last I heard, my left tooth didn't even need to come out. Then she asked which tooth I was getting removed. Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't I pay her to know this information?
She asked if I took penicillin the day before -- naturally, she really bombarded me with questions after she numbed my mouth, so all I can do is nod and drool. I did not take any penicillin prior to the surgery because I didn't know I was supposed to. She said she had thought that she had told me to do that during my last appointment, some 6 weeks ago. She gave me the benefit of the doubt and then asked if I had taken Vicodin beforehand. I nodded my head yes; I took Vicodin an hour before the surgery because the directions on the bottle said to.
Getting very snippy in her thick accent, "Well, if you took the Vicodin beforehad, then I know I told you to take the penicillin. You know what happens to people who don't follow directions? Their surgeries get infected, that's what."
Wow, what words of comfort. I was already crying and trembling like Foxy does during a thunderstorm. I know she never told me to take penicillin prior to the surgery; if she really wanted me to, she should have written it on the prescription like she did for the Vicodin. She continued to shoot my gums with Novocaine; every time I shuttered, she'd say something helpful like, "It wouldn't hurt so much if you had taken that penicillin yesterday." She really seemed hell-bent on making feel stupid; she also was surprised when I was crying and shaking, almost as though she couldn't understand why anyone would be nervous about dental work.
After her assistant helped me swallow four penicillin pills, they got down to business. It was at this point that I really wished that there was a Novocaine for ears. You know, I'm really glad I couldn't feel exactly what they were doing, but I heard everything. EVERYTHING. The scraping and the cracking and the drilling...oooh, yeah, that's going to be nightmare fodder for quite some time.
Her questions didn't stop while I had four hands prying my mouth open and a multitude of dental instruments hanging out of it. "You jumped? What is wrong? Does your jaw hurt? What do you want me to do? This wouldn't be so bad if you had taken that penicillin."
I just whimpered in response. Whimpered and prayed for a quick death.
The procedure really took a turn when I heard her say the words, "pliers please." She said I would feel a "little bit of pressure"; these words were followed by what sounded like my jaw cracking as she tried to pry the offending tooth out of my gum. The wrenching and the yanking continued for quite some time. She did everything short of stand up and put her foot on my forehead to push my tooth away from my mouth as she pulled with her pliers. That drill sounded like a flock of freaking songbirds after the plier experience.
At long last, though, the tooth was finally out, in many pieces. She stitched up the socket and made me look at it in a mirror, which caused me to convulse. She also wouldn't let me leave until I looked at the bloody pieces of my tooth, which was now fractured into no fewer than 7 pieces (she was surprised that I didn't want to keep it. My weird little sister was upset when she found out I didn't save the bloody tooth fragments for her). I glanced down at my blood-splattered bib and noticed that she was wiping blood off her glasses. Ah yes, clearly, I had no reason to be nervous about this procedure.
The first night home was incredibly uncomfortable. The gauze stayed in my mouth for four hours, filling my mouth with the pleasant iron-y flavor of blood, and I iced my face for 12 hours. I also threw up three times that night (thank you, four penicillin pills) adding the extra kick of stomach acid on my open wound, which felt great. Good freaking god, I can't believe people get their wisdom teeth removed as a preventative measure; mine had to come out. But others get theirs taken out "just in case." These people are all masochists. I'm sure they sleep naked on beds of nails with fireants.
Two days later, and it still looks like I'm saving nuts for the winter in my right cheek. The pain comes and goes, and my speech is only moderately impeded, so I think I'm on the road to recovery. I'm not getting any other teeth removed until scientists come up with a more civilized extraction method.
Apropos of nothing, the exbf talked me into going to Costa Rica for an extended period of time; he leaves on Sunday for the next month (although I'm pretty sure he'll be moving there). Lots of weird things have happened this week that have caused me to want to leave the country and signs keep pointing to Costa Rica. I'll have to explain later.
Plus, Costa Rica is really far from my demonic dentist.
posted by BPDubs at 11:34 AM
6 Comments:
was it steve martin is "the little shop of horrors"???
thats the only movie i can think of with a singing, crazy-ass dentist.
My dentist pulled my wisdom teeth out in the same way. We 'rolled' out two of them in one go. And to make you feel better, I don't think I took the penicillin either. I did ask for gas though and that made a world of difference. I was in a neat little zen place taking deep breaths of nitrous oxide and holding it in for as long as humanly possible (I started to cough a little like people smoking pot, lol) Anyways, we did get one tooth out whole and yes, I kept it. (I know, I'm weird) No worries, it heals - but you might be digging rice out of that damn little hole in your gum like I was.
Five points for the Tool. Steve Martin's the best.
JB - Yeah, so, if I had money, I totally would have gone to an oral surgeon. I firmly believe now that wisdom tooth extraction has to be the stupidest preventative surgery out there. Five days later and I am still swollen and in extreme pain; I wake up in the middle of the night whenever my painkillers wear off. And I can't really eat solid foods. If there's one thing I like, it's solid food.
Jenna - I never was offered nitrous oxide. :( She kinda offered me a valium when I was all shaky and crying. Her exact words were, "Do you want a valium? Oh, you don't need a valium." My mouth was numb, so I couldn't interrupt her to say, "For the love of god, give me a valium, a beer, a joint -- something!!"
This recovery time would be vastly improved if I actually had my laptop. CompUSA still has it and is not willing to give me much information on it (they claim to have left messages at my house, but I have never received them. Unless Foxy's taking calls for me and eating the messages, I believe that CompUSA is lying to me).
But I have thoughts of Costa Rica to keep me going. I'll explain soon...ish.
Bless your heart, and your mouth. Sorry to hear about that experience. The farther from that dent-ist the better! (see the irony there)...dent in your wallet and your mouth. Just make sure to get all your shots before you go!
sorry, that last one is from the other JB (the guy) I'll have to come up with another moniker for your posts - SWB for Seth Walker Band? Ok.
later,
SWB
5 points!!! That's pretty generous! The next time i have a drink, I will cheers to you my friend!!! (don't even think I'm lying)
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