Ezrawhen i had my wisdom teeth removed, i was cognizant of the entire procedure—i only closed my eyes to avoid awkwardness. i'm unsure if it was anesthesia, or only a lesser drug administered to me, but it was clear they expected me to be incoherent upon "waking up". bleeding mouth aside, they insisted on wheeling me out to my vehicle afterwards as if i couldn't walk and talk just fine. i've worried about this for years: what if my body is immune? in my mind's eye, i'm taken by ambulance to the hospital in some form of medical emergency, where they've no choice but to put me under for operation. i'm unable to communicate that i'm still conscious after receiving my dosage, and therefore subjected to experiencing every agony of my body being sliced into until it's over. when i can't casually try anesthetic, how will i ever know otherwise? even if i were to confirm my fears, what then? as a result of this information, i worry about a higher dosage being administered in such a way that it kills me. it is not my greatest fear (as no fear is greater than death itself), but you understand how the two are closely linked. i suppose, returning to the subject of dental extraction, it was also unpleasant getting my teeth pulled time and time again. the needle injecting supposed numbing medication into my gums did nothing to disguise the pressure felt when the dentist crudely ripped my teeth away from flesh and bone. i've sat there and watched as they called in assistants to pull harder, complaining that my teeth were too stubborn to leave from the mouth they belonged in. it's true that my mouth was overcrowded, but it's not like i had more teeth than the average person; the problem was my small mouth. i remember the helplessness. i remember the blood. after all was said and done, the dentist still had the audacity to suggest jaw surgery.
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