Goodbye, #16

I will be 26 years old on March 31. I really thought that I was going to make it through life without any of this wisdom tooth extraction business. I thought wrong.

Wednesday I will be saying goodbye to my top left third molar.  #16, according to the lady who scheduled my appointment. It makes me nauseated thinking about it.

Since I can't stand getting my teeth cleaned, I didn't think it would be possible for me to sit in a regular dentist's office and have them rip my tooth from the depths of my gums with only lidocaine without having a panic attack or vomiting or at the very least, running away. So I will be choosing option 2. Option 2 involves anesthesia. I just assume not be aware of all the drilling and grinding and yanking and whatever else is going to happen. I just can't bear to be conscious for this whole, awful process.

I won't miss #16. I hate it for its very existence. Good riddance.

So, your prayers are welcomed. Your horror stories of dry sockets and broken jaws are not.