One of the rights of passage as a young man or woman prepares for missionary service is the loss of wisdom … teeth that is. ☺ As part of Ben’s filling out his mission “papers” (funny how it’s still thought of in that regard even though everything is done on-line now ☺), is the sections having to do with the candidate’s medical and dental portion. In Ben’s case, with his being diagnosed with hyper-mobility syndrome, he needs additional doctor visits to his orthopedist and rheumatologist to get statements from them as to his physical limitations and ability to serve. Along with the doctor visits is the inevitable trip to the dentist which leads to the trip to the oral surgeon for removal of those wonderful teeth that have been given the moniker of “wisdom” teeth.
I guess you could say Ben got lucky. Turns out he had only two wisdom teeth and the surgery went relatively well. The bummer part is that everyone failed to realize that he has his final school talent show coming in a few days. We are all hoping that he recovers enough to be able to beat box for his fans one more time.
When I came home today and found him in his state of recovery, I couldn't help but be transported back to my own experience with wisdom extraction. I was in the same situation as Ben, preparing my missionary papers. As I look back on that time, I can honestly say that one of the reasons I didn't leave immediately after turning 19 was the fact that I knew this extraction would need to take place. Just the thought of having to go through with the removal of another 4 teeth didn't appeal to me and I procrastinated as long as I could before going through with it. You see, I had already had 4 teeth removed from my mouth when I started wearing braces. Apparently, I had more teeth than my mouth could handle and in order to make enough room to straighten out the crooked teeth, four teeth had to depart from my head. It was not a fun experience for me. I was given plenty of Novocain shots (not fun in and of themselves), but I wasn't given laughing gas or knocked out like Ben and Jennifer were. It's not an enjoyable experience to have to sit in the dentist's chair listening to every crack, crunch, pop and snap as said dentist removed each tooth. Those sounds are still with me even today if I think hard enough about the experience. I get the willies just thinking about those noises.
After putting the dentist visit off for about a month or so, I finally gave in and prepared myself for the inevitable. My mom drove me to the appointment. During the car ride to Montpelier, Idaho, I kept telling her that I was only going to have one of the teeth removed. A previous preliminary visit had shown that my bottom two wisdom teeth were coming in at an angle toward my back molars. One was pressing up against my teeth and definitely needed to be removed before it became impacted. The other one could be put on hold, but would eventually need to be taken. My two top wisdom teeth were coming in at an angle toward my cheeks. They too would need subsequent removal, but could also be put off for the time being. Nowadays, it appears that all these teeth would have needed to come out regardless because it isn't something the Church wants to have to deal with—especially for missionaries who could develop problems and complications while serving in a third world country. Having an impacted tooth in that situation would not be ideal to say the least. In my case, the dentist had led me to believe it was my choice. If I wanted to only take the impacted tooth that was fine with him.
We arrived at the office and, after a 10 or so minutes, I was marched like a prisoner awaiting execution to an examination room and told to sit in the dentist’s chair (I swear it looked like an electric chair to me at that moment). I was plunked in and prepped. Then the dentist (who, if I remember correctly was also our stake president) entered the room. He asked me how many of my teeth I wanted pulled and I told him, “Just the impacted one.” He told me again that all my wisdom teeth would have to come out eventually, but I shook my head. Just before he was going to give me the first Novocain shot, however, one of his assistants came into the room and told him he was needed to help with some young child who was having a freaky nah-nah moment (I could hear him in the other examining room). I was left by myself for about 6 or 7 minutes (at least, it seemed that long) while order was restored. During that time (who knows, maybe Providence was giving me time to think about my decision), I came to the conclusion that if the other 3 wisdom teeth would need to come out eventually, I might as well get it over with now. I’m sitting in the chair; the dentist is ready to get started. Why not be done with it; recover; and move on with life? I reasoned.
When the dentist returned to my room and asked one more time if I was sure if I only wanted the one tooth removed, I blurted out, “Just take them all. Take them all and get it over with!” The impacted tooth needed several extra shots of Novocain before I couldn’t feel it anymore. Again, I heard every crack, crinkle and crunch before each tooth was removed from my mouth, but, then it was over and finished! My mouth was packed with gauze and I was lead into the waiting room. My mother took one look at me and her face became a frown. I wasn't sure why, but she looked like a dragon ready to lay waste to the county-side with fire and brimstone! She quietly and quickly paid and led me to the car to drive me back home. I was a mess. Because of the additional shots, I couldn’t feel the bottom half of my face. Everything from the bottom of my nose to halfway down my neck was numb. At one point, Mom reached over and handed me a paper napkin and told me I was drooling on myself—I had no clue.
Fifteen long, quiet minutes had passed before Mom looked at me and said something like, “What happened in there?” I couldn’t speak very well, so I gave her my best impression of a quizzical look. “You said you only wanted one tooth removed,” she continued. “How many did he take?” “All of them,” I mumbled through numb lips. “Did he do that on his own?” she asked. Clarity enlightened me at that moment. Suddenly I understood the silent car ride and the enraged look she had given me. I had been so adamant about only wanting one tooth extracted on the drive to Montpelier that Mom thought the dentist had gone rouge on me and pulled them all out against my will. If my jaw hadn’t been so numb and my mouth not packed with gauze, I might have laughed at the situation. Instead, I burbled, “No, no, I asked him to. I changed my mind. I decided I might as well get it over with, so I told him to take them all.” My admission calmed her. I get the feeling that if the dentist hadn’t been our stake president, Mom might have gone for his eyes while we were in the office. ☺ Instead, all was well. It took a couple of days to recover. I don’t remember swelling up or anything like that; just pain and a tender jaw for 2 or 3 days.
Ah, memories. With this procedure accomplished, Ben is closer to having all the prerequisites needed to submit his mission papers. A few more appointments remain and then the fun really begins! ☺
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