A
andyscourage
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- Oct 26, 2021
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I've never posted to a forum before, so hopefully I'm doing this right as it is my intention to share as much as I possibly can about my experience today. I'd like to say a general warning here for the most sensitive of dentalphobes: I discuss some nitty-gritty personal stories, and in general am talking about oral surgery so please don't read on unprepared if you're extremely sensitive. Overall, I'm extremely optimistic. This post will also be rather long, as I'm known to be longwinded, and also because those types of posts gave me the most immersive escape when I was in the depths of my anxiety, so beware of that.
Today I got my wisdom teeth extracted -- all four, with general anesthesia (or so they told me; more on that later).
Before I begin, I want to share a little bit of background on myself. I'm twenty-four years old, and socially unconventional in many ways, the most significant here being that my anxiety for the majority of my life has been so severe that upon recent reflection, I've been having simply awful panic attacks since childhood. On top of that, relating specifically to dentistry, I've had some of the crummiest dentists imaginable, mostly during my childhood.
I'm talking fillings that were most likely unnecessary, and beyond the things that I struggle to debate due to my own lack of professional knowledge on the matter, straight up ripping off parts of my gums with no numbing, no warning, and no apology. I have a visible scar on my front teeth from this, and sometimes dentists ask if I had braces. Yes, I did (and of course, the orthodontist was an ogre as well, for other reasons), but that scar that forever marks me was a stupid and rather brutal mistake that was brushed under a rug and never acknowledged. Even at regular cleanings, now in my adulthood, I often have the misfortune of getting a tech that thinks my gums should be immune to a metal hook blatantly grazing across their every centimeter until I'm left using a saline wash for days. Sorry if this is brutal to read for those of you who can relate, but I think it's only appropriate to share some of my worst stories from my past and present to establish some personal stories.
One more story that's particularly relevant to today: I remember clearly when I was about maybe eight or nine years old; my mom shared with me that most every gets wisdom teeth, and most everyone must get them removed. Immediately my heart plummeted down through me to the car seat, and since that day, the mere thought of the necessary extraction was enough to make me get those horrible pre-panic sweats and chills and knot in my stomach. Note, my anxiety has been bad enough for me to nearly panic over just going to the movies, or over the prospect of seeing friends. Those are all good things, so imagine how I felt during the bad.
Anyway, once I was a teen, two different dentists, different practices and all, told me that I wouldn't need to get my wisdom teeth extracted. They said I had room, and it was no problem. I remember how they both shrugged, and dismissed the subject quickly (all the while, I had avoided asking the dentists about the state of my teeth because I preferred to ignore the issue altogether).
Life moved on, and through the years my many friends got their extractions done. I was morbidly obsessed with the stories they'd share with me. I collected them, and recited them over and over in my mind. It was like all of my horror would make me become obsessed, and that continued to be a theme for a long time with me.
Flash forward to about a year ago, and my latest dentist rolled up during one of my cleanings to inform me that I had an impacted tooth and that it was never coming in, and that I must get it removed before it "causes some real damage to the other teeth." At that point, I'd already grown in my top two with increasing pleasure, thinking they'd all continue coming in one at a time, and I'd live happily ever after, with boasting rights on how I never needed to face such a horrible thing unlike most everyone else in the world.
I refused to accept what she said. Her office setup is just so that I was unable to see my x-rays behind the dental chair, so I had even more reason to delude myself. The point of the back right third molar had already begun erupting, and I was just encouraging it along, teething on a special-bought chewthpick. Six months or more later, in a sudden moment of clarity, I accepted that it was, indeed, rather crooked, and couldn't possibly grow in correctly.
That moment of clarity was immediately followed by my entire life dissolving into panic. For at least two months, I went into complete conniptions like some Victorian who'd tied her layers of dress with a little too much gusto (I'm able to kid about it now, so please allow me to; I don't belittle the real reasons for the fear itself, but this issue has controlled my life to an extreme degree).
Blessed be my mother, who, once I found an oral surgeon by some miracle less than 5 minutes from our house, called and scheduled a consultation for me. She helped keep me in the dark about the date, which I absolutely needed. I lived every day for at least one of my two months of panic thinking that it would be any day now.
When I say it was months of panic...I insist on clarifying, so that others like me don't feel alone, or even insane or ridiculous like I'd felt. Anxiety isn't irrational, and our phobias as well are based in things that our minds see as very real, even as we try to break them down and combat them. I promise you, you're not the only one who's been through this.
Some things I experienced were: sudden, complete insomnia, which I don't ever deal with, even during previous bouts of constant panic; inability to eat, and the ensuing weightloss (I always have struggled with this); a complete and total loss of my mind to the OBSESSION of oral surgery, of compulsive googling, envisioning myself in every step of the process, and even fearing the recovery perhaps more than the surgery itself.
I need to tell you something now. If you haven't begun the process at all, but want to: that's already a huge step. One of the biggest changes for me came from the realization that I didn't want to turn twenty-four and have this still hanging over my head; something many of my peers had done as teens, and never thought about again. Something my entire family had had done, and never thought about again. I realized that I was the one that started this process, and I wanted it. I needed it, between my future dental health, and for me to know that I can come out the other side of a huge, month-long anxiety attack (and intermittently sprinkled panic attacks) with a VICTORY.
A victory is so important, and I wanted to wear it like a badge of honor. I wanted to someday be able to lay in bed at night, fully healed, and remember: I did that. I did that and here I am now, in the future, benefiting from it.
(EDIT: I hit post before I finished!!)
Anyway -- I need you to know that I found ways to stop being afraid before the surgery actually arrived. I intend to share those facts with you here, after I share with you the details of how my operation went, so that those of you who haven't yet been through it, and need to (or want to) can have it as a come-down.
The surgery, truly, was nothing. As I said before, this was my lifelong phobia, and even though I found a way to combat the HUGE majority of my anxiety, I still was almost certain I wouldn't survive this.
They were going to use the typical general anesthetic, putting me to sleep, as they extracted all four of my third molars. Long ago, likely as a misdiagnosis, I was told I had some sort of heart condition that I blocked from memory, but as we know, anxiety isn't logical, so I didn't mention it (the condition was one that I was supposed to outgrow and that was supposedly common, anyway). I know how insane that sounds, but I couldn't go into this knowing that I'd be hearing all the sounds and smelling all the smells or whatever -- yes, I had spent a long time reading the horror stories prior to this. I'm sure most of us have. For some reason they're much easier to find than the good ones. More on that later.
I arrived at 8pm, as the second surgery of the day. I can't take pills (I've never succeeded in swallowing any, and as I said, my anxiety has ruled me for a long time) so rather than being perscribed a Valium, I took some liquid hydroxyzine that I had been prescribed earlier by a doctor during the worst of my conniptions. I'd also taken zofran because I have a history of nausea immediately causing an anxiety mindset. Don't be afraid to ask for a valium. Something that comforted me before the appointment was knowing that I'd be calm on the day-of, even if I wasn't calm now.
They took me back, and there were two of those people whos title I'm not sure of (tech? nurse?), and set me up with some little monitors and a blood pressure cuff. I mostly just stared out the window or at the ceiling. Eventually they left me alone, and eventually more people came into the room and sort of surrounded me. They gave me a plastic apron and a hairnet, and I joked that this was the real thing.
When I saw the doctor again, he already had been informed by me of my anxiety disorder, so he was sure to walk me through everything. Since I'd secretly conquered my phobia already, I was mentally at a perfectly balanced 0, but my heart monitor was snitching on the adrenaline in my system.
I personally dislike having needles in my elbow, and asked if he could check if the veins in my hand were any good. He checked both locations for a long time, and I told him he could do whatever was best either way, and when he said the elbow was a little better, I just nodded and accepted it. He then put some sort of square frame over the area, and narrated while he swabbed around with an alcohol cotton pad, and then used the freezing spray he'd previously told me about.
I've had my blood drawn lots of times, without any sort of numbing, and it's not something I'm scared of, but I DO get vasovagal syncope a good amount of times when dealing with needles. I guess it's just the shock. Luckily this time I was laying down already, and a grimace got me through the yucky sensation of the needle. I've got nerves on my nerves, so I could still sort of feel it, but honestly it's nothing. It's just nothing. One fleeting moment of the many billions I've lived in my young life.
I don't know why it took a while, but he told me it seemed good and they got blood pushback and all that, so the vein was likely to take the sedative well. Then one of the nurses put the block in my mouth, saying it was to hold my mouth open (for those who are curious, it was a rubbery yellow thing. I didn't note any flavor, and it was only uncomfortable because not only do I have TMJ but I've also had a bad bout of it the past few days. No pain, but one of those hyper-sensitive things I noticed and figured I'd share.)
One of the other people in the room began covering up my face, which I actually found to be immensely comforting. I always thought I'd hate not being aware, but I actually just felt like one of those falcons being transported, or a horse with blinders. I couldn't see anything I could fear. She said it was to shield me from the light; it was some kind of a cloth, and I could see small glimses of light through the weave.
Now, this is the part that confuses me for many reasons. I never actually went unconscious. I'd read plenty of times about the timeskip effect of this type of sedation; you're awake, then suddenly you're awake again and you're done, and how did that happen?
I was mostly conscious through the ordeal. The doctor had asked me to share whether I felt the medication burning, which it didnt... But there was never a fade-out. He had told me in the consultation that it would be, so I kept politely raising a finger to indicate that I was still awake. Mind you, I was very relaxed. I wasn't even a little scared. But I did end up hearing some of the sounds that I was certain would traumatize me (they didnt; its been a few hours and it's already become a funny story). Someone was in charge of supporting my jaw from behind the edge of it below my ear, and of turning my head left and right, etc, while someone else did the numbing shots and all the other stuff.
Time did pass quickly, and I believe I did fall asleep at one point, so that was fine. It only took them half an hour to finish me off, with two erupted teeth and two impacted (one erupted, one not at all). At some point I heard them say they needed to do something, and then I felt them take my hand and add another IV. I don't know if I went out completely after that, because I do remember more sounds, but I'd say my experience is likely comparable to those who undergo oral surgery with nitrous or with that type of IV sedation that isn't a total KO.
Next thing I remember clearly was one or two women talking to me as they lifted me to my feet for the recovery room, and then laying me down and telling me to try to stay awake. I was pretty out of it for sure at that point. I was so aware of myself and my surroundings, and I kept trying to laugh at how funny it was that I was still me, just a little delirious. I don't do drugs and my body cannot handle alcohol, but I could say it was a similar feeling to the one time I got a good buzzed feeling going, only more intensely. I thought I might cry from joy to be alive, but I'd never fallen asleep so completely as to feel that way at all. I was just fine.
They brought in my mom, who helped walk me to the car. I was talking in a funny little voice, and then i plopped in the car seat, and wrote a whole essay in my notepad that, in my sober state, is almost completely illegible.
I sat on the couch at home, and kind-of-sort-of dozed off while Seinfeld blasted in the background. My beloved cat of thirteen healthy years, with some unhealthy moments between, was absolutely certain that someting had happened. He smelled me and had such recognition in his eyes, which my out-of-mind self found so endlessly entertaining.
I was never out of myself to the point that I'd say anything I didn't mean to. Also, that had been another fear of mine, that I'd lost so much weight from anxiety (which hit right after losing weight from travel, no less) that the drugs would take me over completely. They did not. Especially not with dehydrated veins, LOL.
I will have to add more to this post later, because I'm juggling medications and meals. Feel free to ask any of those morbid questions that buzz around your brain and leave you with no time for respite. Before I go for now, I'll say I'm in absolutely no pain. My jaw was already a little sore, and I live with that low level of pain on a regular basis so this is nothing new at all to me. I haven't explored my mouth with my tongue and I don't intend to. The bleeding was also very shortlived (and also, I got stitches in the bottom two and nothing in the tops).
I'll be sure to reply to this post with more information once I have some more time to myself.
I wish you the absolute calmest of moments, and send you my full, sincere encouragement.
Today I got my wisdom teeth extracted -- all four, with general anesthesia (or so they told me; more on that later).
Before I begin, I want to share a little bit of background on myself. I'm twenty-four years old, and socially unconventional in many ways, the most significant here being that my anxiety for the majority of my life has been so severe that upon recent reflection, I've been having simply awful panic attacks since childhood. On top of that, relating specifically to dentistry, I've had some of the crummiest dentists imaginable, mostly during my childhood.
I'm talking fillings that were most likely unnecessary, and beyond the things that I struggle to debate due to my own lack of professional knowledge on the matter, straight up ripping off parts of my gums with no numbing, no warning, and no apology. I have a visible scar on my front teeth from this, and sometimes dentists ask if I had braces. Yes, I did (and of course, the orthodontist was an ogre as well, for other reasons), but that scar that forever marks me was a stupid and rather brutal mistake that was brushed under a rug and never acknowledged. Even at regular cleanings, now in my adulthood, I often have the misfortune of getting a tech that thinks my gums should be immune to a metal hook blatantly grazing across their every centimeter until I'm left using a saline wash for days. Sorry if this is brutal to read for those of you who can relate, but I think it's only appropriate to share some of my worst stories from my past and present to establish some personal stories.
One more story that's particularly relevant to today: I remember clearly when I was about maybe eight or nine years old; my mom shared with me that most every gets wisdom teeth, and most everyone must get them removed. Immediately my heart plummeted down through me to the car seat, and since that day, the mere thought of the necessary extraction was enough to make me get those horrible pre-panic sweats and chills and knot in my stomach. Note, my anxiety has been bad enough for me to nearly panic over just going to the movies, or over the prospect of seeing friends. Those are all good things, so imagine how I felt during the bad.
Anyway, once I was a teen, two different dentists, different practices and all, told me that I wouldn't need to get my wisdom teeth extracted. They said I had room, and it was no problem. I remember how they both shrugged, and dismissed the subject quickly (all the while, I had avoided asking the dentists about the state of my teeth because I preferred to ignore the issue altogether).
Life moved on, and through the years my many friends got their extractions done. I was morbidly obsessed with the stories they'd share with me. I collected them, and recited them over and over in my mind. It was like all of my horror would make me become obsessed, and that continued to be a theme for a long time with me.
Flash forward to about a year ago, and my latest dentist rolled up during one of my cleanings to inform me that I had an impacted tooth and that it was never coming in, and that I must get it removed before it "causes some real damage to the other teeth." At that point, I'd already grown in my top two with increasing pleasure, thinking they'd all continue coming in one at a time, and I'd live happily ever after, with boasting rights on how I never needed to face such a horrible thing unlike most everyone else in the world.
I refused to accept what she said. Her office setup is just so that I was unable to see my x-rays behind the dental chair, so I had even more reason to delude myself. The point of the back right third molar had already begun erupting, and I was just encouraging it along, teething on a special-bought chewthpick. Six months or more later, in a sudden moment of clarity, I accepted that it was, indeed, rather crooked, and couldn't possibly grow in correctly.
That moment of clarity was immediately followed by my entire life dissolving into panic. For at least two months, I went into complete conniptions like some Victorian who'd tied her layers of dress with a little too much gusto (I'm able to kid about it now, so please allow me to; I don't belittle the real reasons for the fear itself, but this issue has controlled my life to an extreme degree).
Blessed be my mother, who, once I found an oral surgeon by some miracle less than 5 minutes from our house, called and scheduled a consultation for me. She helped keep me in the dark about the date, which I absolutely needed. I lived every day for at least one of my two months of panic thinking that it would be any day now.
When I say it was months of panic...I insist on clarifying, so that others like me don't feel alone, or even insane or ridiculous like I'd felt. Anxiety isn't irrational, and our phobias as well are based in things that our minds see as very real, even as we try to break them down and combat them. I promise you, you're not the only one who's been through this.
Some things I experienced were: sudden, complete insomnia, which I don't ever deal with, even during previous bouts of constant panic; inability to eat, and the ensuing weightloss (I always have struggled with this); a complete and total loss of my mind to the OBSESSION of oral surgery, of compulsive googling, envisioning myself in every step of the process, and even fearing the recovery perhaps more than the surgery itself.
I need to tell you something now. If you haven't begun the process at all, but want to: that's already a huge step. One of the biggest changes for me came from the realization that I didn't want to turn twenty-four and have this still hanging over my head; something many of my peers had done as teens, and never thought about again. Something my entire family had had done, and never thought about again. I realized that I was the one that started this process, and I wanted it. I needed it, between my future dental health, and for me to know that I can come out the other side of a huge, month-long anxiety attack (and intermittently sprinkled panic attacks) with a VICTORY.
A victory is so important, and I wanted to wear it like a badge of honor. I wanted to someday be able to lay in bed at night, fully healed, and remember: I did that. I did that and here I am now, in the future, benefiting from it.
(EDIT: I hit post before I finished!!)
Anyway -- I need you to know that I found ways to stop being afraid before the surgery actually arrived. I intend to share those facts with you here, after I share with you the details of how my operation went, so that those of you who haven't yet been through it, and need to (or want to) can have it as a come-down.
The surgery, truly, was nothing. As I said before, this was my lifelong phobia, and even though I found a way to combat the HUGE majority of my anxiety, I still was almost certain I wouldn't survive this.
They were going to use the typical general anesthetic, putting me to sleep, as they extracted all four of my third molars. Long ago, likely as a misdiagnosis, I was told I had some sort of heart condition that I blocked from memory, but as we know, anxiety isn't logical, so I didn't mention it (the condition was one that I was supposed to outgrow and that was supposedly common, anyway). I know how insane that sounds, but I couldn't go into this knowing that I'd be hearing all the sounds and smelling all the smells or whatever -- yes, I had spent a long time reading the horror stories prior to this. I'm sure most of us have. For some reason they're much easier to find than the good ones. More on that later.
I arrived at 8pm, as the second surgery of the day. I can't take pills (I've never succeeded in swallowing any, and as I said, my anxiety has ruled me for a long time) so rather than being perscribed a Valium, I took some liquid hydroxyzine that I had been prescribed earlier by a doctor during the worst of my conniptions. I'd also taken zofran because I have a history of nausea immediately causing an anxiety mindset. Don't be afraid to ask for a valium. Something that comforted me before the appointment was knowing that I'd be calm on the day-of, even if I wasn't calm now.
They took me back, and there were two of those people whos title I'm not sure of (tech? nurse?), and set me up with some little monitors and a blood pressure cuff. I mostly just stared out the window or at the ceiling. Eventually they left me alone, and eventually more people came into the room and sort of surrounded me. They gave me a plastic apron and a hairnet, and I joked that this was the real thing.
When I saw the doctor again, he already had been informed by me of my anxiety disorder, so he was sure to walk me through everything. Since I'd secretly conquered my phobia already, I was mentally at a perfectly balanced 0, but my heart monitor was snitching on the adrenaline in my system.
I personally dislike having needles in my elbow, and asked if he could check if the veins in my hand were any good. He checked both locations for a long time, and I told him he could do whatever was best either way, and when he said the elbow was a little better, I just nodded and accepted it. He then put some sort of square frame over the area, and narrated while he swabbed around with an alcohol cotton pad, and then used the freezing spray he'd previously told me about.
I've had my blood drawn lots of times, without any sort of numbing, and it's not something I'm scared of, but I DO get vasovagal syncope a good amount of times when dealing with needles. I guess it's just the shock. Luckily this time I was laying down already, and a grimace got me through the yucky sensation of the needle. I've got nerves on my nerves, so I could still sort of feel it, but honestly it's nothing. It's just nothing. One fleeting moment of the many billions I've lived in my young life.
I don't know why it took a while, but he told me it seemed good and they got blood pushback and all that, so the vein was likely to take the sedative well. Then one of the nurses put the block in my mouth, saying it was to hold my mouth open (for those who are curious, it was a rubbery yellow thing. I didn't note any flavor, and it was only uncomfortable because not only do I have TMJ but I've also had a bad bout of it the past few days. No pain, but one of those hyper-sensitive things I noticed and figured I'd share.)
One of the other people in the room began covering up my face, which I actually found to be immensely comforting. I always thought I'd hate not being aware, but I actually just felt like one of those falcons being transported, or a horse with blinders. I couldn't see anything I could fear. She said it was to shield me from the light; it was some kind of a cloth, and I could see small glimses of light through the weave.
Now, this is the part that confuses me for many reasons. I never actually went unconscious. I'd read plenty of times about the timeskip effect of this type of sedation; you're awake, then suddenly you're awake again and you're done, and how did that happen?
I was mostly conscious through the ordeal. The doctor had asked me to share whether I felt the medication burning, which it didnt... But there was never a fade-out. He had told me in the consultation that it would be, so I kept politely raising a finger to indicate that I was still awake. Mind you, I was very relaxed. I wasn't even a little scared. But I did end up hearing some of the sounds that I was certain would traumatize me (they didnt; its been a few hours and it's already become a funny story). Someone was in charge of supporting my jaw from behind the edge of it below my ear, and of turning my head left and right, etc, while someone else did the numbing shots and all the other stuff.
Time did pass quickly, and I believe I did fall asleep at one point, so that was fine. It only took them half an hour to finish me off, with two erupted teeth and two impacted (one erupted, one not at all). At some point I heard them say they needed to do something, and then I felt them take my hand and add another IV. I don't know if I went out completely after that, because I do remember more sounds, but I'd say my experience is likely comparable to those who undergo oral surgery with nitrous or with that type of IV sedation that isn't a total KO.
Next thing I remember clearly was one or two women talking to me as they lifted me to my feet for the recovery room, and then laying me down and telling me to try to stay awake. I was pretty out of it for sure at that point. I was so aware of myself and my surroundings, and I kept trying to laugh at how funny it was that I was still me, just a little delirious. I don't do drugs and my body cannot handle alcohol, but I could say it was a similar feeling to the one time I got a good buzzed feeling going, only more intensely. I thought I might cry from joy to be alive, but I'd never fallen asleep so completely as to feel that way at all. I was just fine.
They brought in my mom, who helped walk me to the car. I was talking in a funny little voice, and then i plopped in the car seat, and wrote a whole essay in my notepad that, in my sober state, is almost completely illegible.
I sat on the couch at home, and kind-of-sort-of dozed off while Seinfeld blasted in the background. My beloved cat of thirteen healthy years, with some unhealthy moments between, was absolutely certain that someting had happened. He smelled me and had such recognition in his eyes, which my out-of-mind self found so endlessly entertaining.
I was never out of myself to the point that I'd say anything I didn't mean to. Also, that had been another fear of mine, that I'd lost so much weight from anxiety (which hit right after losing weight from travel, no less) that the drugs would take me over completely. They did not. Especially not with dehydrated veins, LOL.
I will have to add more to this post later, because I'm juggling medications and meals. Feel free to ask any of those morbid questions that buzz around your brain and leave you with no time for respite. Before I go for now, I'll say I'm in absolutely no pain. My jaw was already a little sore, and I live with that low level of pain on a regular basis so this is nothing new at all to me. I haven't explored my mouth with my tongue and I don't intend to. The bleeding was also very shortlived (and also, I got stitches in the bottom two and nothing in the tops).
I'll be sure to reply to this post with more information once I have some more time to myself.
I wish you the absolute calmest of moments, and send you my full, sincere encouragement.
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