I am now convinced that wisdom teeth removal is a vast dental industry conspiracy in which they perform unnecessary surgery to take your money and prevent problems that might, one day, maybe occur. My reasoning stems from the fact that proceeding my own wisdom teeth extraction, I was not having any problems whatsover with my teeth. Maybe they moved a little as the wisdom teeth came in, but there was no infection, no issues at all. Since the surgery, I have had fairly continuous discomfort–except, ironically, the first day or two after the surgery. But then the pain kicked in, then I had a dry socket which really was a killer let me tell you. There’s also details I will spare you about the maintenance of the area from which the teeth were removed. And then, to top it all off, now, five weeks later, I have an infection.
Wait a minute, didn’t I get my teeth out in order to prevent infection? What is this?! Had I just never had the surgery, I would not have had to pump my body with tons of medications, wince every time I ate something at all hard or crunchy, or visit an Italian dentist like I did yesterday.
After a few days of increasing pain in my teeth, I emailed my oral surgeon asking what might be wrong. He suggested I see someone her since it would be a while until I would be back and if it is an infection, it would get worse and be awfully uncomfortable. Well, when I told Nana this, she immediately called Monica at the hotel and asked if there was someone we could go to. Within the hour, I had an appointment in Quercegrossa, a town twenty minutes away. And of course the whole time I was thinking, it’s not a big deal, we don’t need to go, I’ll just wait until I get back…etc. But the nurse/grandma in Nana had already taken over and I was to be taken care of.
And so we, Nana, Papa Tom, and I, drove to this small town, with vague directions that the dentist’s office was “near” the farmacia. We ended up finding it fairly quickly out of luck, even though it was just a door on the corner of this plain looking building. While in the waiting room (stocked with old magazines, you’ll be happy to know), I searched my dictionary for words like oral surgeon (chirurgo orale) and wisdom teeth (denti del giudizio).
Then the assistant took me to a room that was basically your standard dentist room. There I met the dentist, and old man in green scrubs, who after listening to my stuttering Italian (I had forgotten all of the words I had just tried to memorize), took my hand and told me to calm down. I wasn’t nervous, though I might have seemed so; I was just trying to prove that I could speak Italian and handle such a situation. Then he took a look, asked me some questions, and tapped on all the teeth to see which one was the source of the pain. Well, we found it. Then he took an x-ray.
He asked if I had anti-inflammatory medicine, so I pulled out my little bottle of advil I keep in my purse. Of course, this thing has been banging around inside my bag for who knows how long, so the label was barely legible. He told me to take an antibiotic if the advil doesn’t seem to help after a day or two. Then, he said I was done and sent us on our way. He never even charged for the appointment!
The best part though, is I got to keep my little x-ray. Sweet deal.
Take my advice and don’t get unnecessary surgery just because “they” tell you you have to or because everyone else seems to be doing it. I feel like I succumbed to peer pressure. And even though yesterday was an adventure and I’m proud to say I survived the Italian dentist, I still wish I didn’t have to deal with this at all. It’s just a pain.