A Wisdom Tooth Poem of Horror

Yesterday I had a scare
while seated in the dental chair.
Sit back and read, then say a prayer
thanking God that you weren't there.
It wasn't fun, it wasn't easy.
It would've made a grown man queasy.

I went in for a simple transaction,
better known as wisdom-tooth extraction.
But, as you’ll see, this simple subtraction
turned into a chain reaction
of horror and fright difficult to express,
but let me try and recount my duress.

It all started out in a manner routine
no indication from the x-ray machine
of difficulties that might arise unforeseen
that would eventually turn me a yellowish-green.
I declined the anesthetic administered by vein
and was given instead SEVEN shots of Novocaine.

That was a mistake I now know in hindsight.
Unconsciousness would have been an utter delight.
I would have avoided the trauma and fright,
the need to hold on with all of my might.
But, I decided to be brave and save $300 dollars
which is why I’m not welcome in The Community of Scholars.

Then in mask and gloves appeared my oral surgeon
ready to work on me, his wisdom-tooth virgin.
Whilst I quickly looked for something to purge in
he lifted his arms and started to surge in.
I closed my eyes and pretended to be
walking in a meadow of daffodil and sweet pea.

He had told me that this was “only a twenty minute ordeal”
so I meditated in order to avoid having to feel
the panic that started rising somewhere in my heel
and spread through my body like liquid hot steel.
I entered a state of total submission,
as he prodded with tools from the Spanish Inquisition.

Forty-five minutes later he was still at it.
By now my jaw needed wiring, my lip was split,
my hands were shaking and, I have to admit,
I was on the verge of throwing a fit.
His latex gloves were filled with sweat dripping
onto my face and down my arms slipping.

The tooth wasn’t moving, it wouldn’t come out.
At one point the tool slipped, I let out a shout!
The dentist was panting, the nurse looked with doubt.
I felt like I was going to die, just about.
The pulling, the tugging went on ad infinitum
and it got to the point where I wanted to bite ‘em.

I was no longer able to meditate clearly.
The drilling affected my concentration dearly.
The sound was so loud, my skull grated severely
It whizzed up my brain stem and shuttered me queerly.
Instead, I began earnestly beseeching my tooth
to relinquish it’s hold on my jawbone, forsooth!

But all my pleading fell flat on deaf ears.
No matter my curses, my gut wrenching tears.
My tooth wouldn’t listen, it said it adheres
because it likes where it’s been all these years.
I had to admit, it did have a point
but, please, I said, please!, I want out of this joint.

Finally, finally, finally, at last!
The tooth popped out, sick of being harassed.
It came in two pieces, the crises was past
T’was a dentalian battle unsurpassed.
We three, the doctor, the nurse and me
all cried out in VICTORY!

The stitches were sewn with jubilant elation,
some x-rays followed, then a brief consultation.
I was given prescriptions and other information
about what to expect with regained oral sensation.
The Man was admitted to find me still breathing
and happy I’d survived this horrendous de-teething.

Now I’m recuperating in a drug induced haze.
My jaw is all swollen and will be for days.
The Man he is helping me get through this phase
with icepacks, pudding and the piano he plays.
I lie on the sofa and thank my stars lucky
that the day after tomorrow I won't feel so yucky.

But, one thing I do not understand, heaven knows,
is why I can’t for three weeks blow my nose!
And, when I sneeze my mouth mustn’t close!
This, until the wall of my nasal cavity re-grows.
I must be careful and try not to go mental
'Cause the last thing I want is to go back for more dental.

Now, I am weary and must go and rest,
I've tried to describe it all to my best.
I hope you've been able to perceive and digest
how important it was to get this off my chest.
So, this is my story, I swear on my youth,
it's the tooth, the whole tooth and nothing but the tooth.