Written 10/04/2018
Revised 12/02/2018

I wrote this for my style (creative writing) class last semester, and figured I would share it.

...

Oddly, this is the clearest memory from that day.

The world is a blur. The uncomfortable chair is the first thing to register, then comes the unnatural smell. The head weighs too much, arms and legs are too heavy to move. The rest of the setting is too far away still, the walls of the office are strangely unrecognizable. After the dentist's torture, the patient should feel pain. There is none. There is only silence.

***

The car ride was long. I was nervous. I couldn't say what station was playing on the radio, though I imagine it was probably country, or one of those classic rock stations that my parents are fond of. I found it too difficult to focus on the radio, as I was imprisoned by the knowledge that four of my teeth would soon be cut from my mouth.

The fear was disorienting. How was I supposed to handle this? Was I supposed to feel calm, confident that the staff would know how to resolve any issue that popped up? Or was I right to feel the way I did, convinced that the whole experience would be some sort of nightmare?

The office was normal enough. It smelled and looked exactly as one might expect it to. I still felt anxious. Would it be such a bad idea to turn back, to forget today's plans and just keep those teeth where they belonged?

The staff were empathetic yet diligent, preparing me for the procedure as though they had done this a million times before. There was laughing gas. That seemed odd to me, since I normally received it for minor dental procedures. It didn't seem minor to me. This was followed by an I.V. ... Anesthesia. After that, there was nothing ... then I woke up.

***

People say and do weird things when they have their wisdom teeth removed. It's a fact of life. What did I do once the anesthesia wore off? I couldn't tell you. I remember very little about that day, though my parents have told me that I was concerned with the state of my lips. In that unnatural, post-procedure haze, I had convinced myself that my lips were missing, that I needed a new pair. I have no memory of that. I might be able to convince myself that I never said such ridiculous things, but I'm embarrassed to admit that there's proof. My mom captured the aftermath of my procedure on video, making the evidence impossible to ignore. How strange. I don't understand why I reacted like that.

It was June of 2017, two months before my first day of college. I had moved to Kentucky a month before, though my appointment was made at an office in Indiana. When I think about that day, I can recall very little— the trip to this dentist's office, and the strange sensation of waking up some time later. The mind plays tricks on us all, and sometimes there's no way to understand why. Sometimes, I wish I remembered more of that day, wish I had a humorous memory—from my own point of view—to recount for future generations. But the mind also has a way of protecting us from pain and fear. Is that why I have such a poor memory of the wisdom tooth affair? If so, then I'm glad I don't remember. Even without my own memories—thanks to my family's recollections—the experience of wisdom tooth removal has become an unforgettable one.