And they call them wisdom teeth…

Tomorrow I am going to have all four of my wisdom teeth pulled. 3 are ‘a piece of cake’ said the first-year resident/doctor, the other one ‘is a whole other story.’ Said the second-year resident behind him.

After hearing something about cutting away gum and grinding bone, I purposefully lost track of what they were talking about.

I appologize to everyone that’s had to hear me go on endlessly about this. I hope you understand that I am completely freaking-out scared of this. This simple procedure is, in essence, the culmination of 15 years worth of phobias: Dentophobia, Agliophobia, Amnesiphobia, Necrophobia, Somniphobia, Tomophobia (Specifically, Odontophobia), and now Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia. I really wish I was kidding. No really.

So I go under the knife in for the operation surgery playtime tomorrow at noon, but since they treat everyone like meat at Charity Hospital I was told to come in ‘sometime before 11’ so I can get a low number. (I’ll just imagine that I’m at the deli counter at Winn Dixie but instead of getting a half pound of horseradish cheddar and a quarter pound of turkey, sliced thin, I’ll be getting four teeth ripped out of my skull by a med student who needs x number of I.V. cases before he can graduate and 2 weeks of mind numbing pain.)

Yes, I am a drama queen.

Been there, made the t-shirts.

(By the way, I get tons of e-mails from people asking about the drama queen t-shirts. I really don’t have any, but this place does. Scroll all the way down past all the druggie shirts.)