Somewhat Loved and Lost: Wisdom Teeth

Somewhat Loved and Lost: Wisdom Teeth

wisdom teeth out Somewhat Loved and Lost: Wisdom Teeth

Wisdom teeth out and looking like a grumpy chubby kid

It was meant to be just another routine cleaning – the standard set of x-rays, plaque scraping, brushing, flossing, followed by a joyful exit away with goodie bag in tow (this dentistry goes out of their way with the goodie bag, take a look at my Instagram for proof – but that didn’t quite happen, kind of.

Since I haven’t had x-rays in sometime, no one has really checked up on my wisdom teeth to see what they’ve been up to. The general assumption was that they weren’t ever coming down. Of course, though, what is the first rule you learn in many situations? Don’t make assumptions.

“Your teeth are really healthy, even the enamel,” said the hygienist. “Even the wisdom teeth – they’re just growing at 90˚ on the bottom, though. The other bottom wisdom tooth isn’t growing at 90˚ but it is certainly pushing up against your second molar.” I’m pretty sure that could be translated to “take them out, stat.”

Now, this took a minute to process. I didn’t think it was possible for a tooth to grow at a completely wrong angle (i.e. sideways), but there you have it, folks, anything is possible, even with teeth.

Soon after, the dentist arrived – Dr. Karen Ip. Somewhere in between exchanges of hello and looks at my x-rays, we discussed the depressions left on my molars (or “dimples,” as I optimistically spun it) due to my clenching and advised on a mouthguard that is thicker than those fancy Invisalign braces, but not thick enough to be used for field hockey. That’s right – my immediate thought was whether or not I could use the $900 mouthpiece for more than “just sleeping.”

But back to those darn wisdom teeth. The real concern wasn’t the one growing in at 90˚, but the one that was getting too comfortable with his friend, second molar. This act of getting too cozy meant that if anything bad were to happen, they’d both go down together – sounds a little Bonnie and Clyde, doesn’t it? Anyway, it was certain that that one would have to be extracted, and it would be up to a consult by a referral to determine the fate of the rest of’em.

So arrives my 8:45 AM appointment the following Thursday with Dr. Michael Marshall, the oral surgeon. Upon taking another round of x-rays with a rotating scanner (if you need a visual, think of that ridiculous 360˚ body scanner where you are in mid-jumping jack position), not only do we notice the all-too-cozy wisdom tooth, but also the 90˚ fellow who is also trying to warm his way up to his second molar neighbour. In short, the suggestion was just to remove them all.

At this point, my options are for just local anesthetic around my mouth or a little bit of general anaesthesia to calm me down from waving my arms in the air as we go about sawing my gums down. You can guess what I opted for by the subsequent use of my cellphone to have someone pick me up thereafter. I honestly thought I’d just be able to walk out Liz Lemon style, or at least be hallucinating like she did after Jack Donaghy picked her up from the dentist’s office.

Since I wasn’t completely under, I did have the thrills of hearing mini saws cut around my gums, and little picks crack at my wisdom teeth, followed by mini pliers for extraction. Really, it wasn’t that glorious, but it sure was fun to kind of watch. I figured I might as well enjoy it all since the bill was almost $2300 (even after dental insurance). Really, I just opted to dub it a “once in a lifetime experience” crossed off my bucket list. And hey, I had a view.

dds michael marshall flatiron Somewhat Loved and Lost: Wisdom Teeth

View from Dr. Michael Marshall's surgical room

The subsequent hours aren’t really that much fun – trust me. Walking over to CVS with gauze in your mouth and pointing to your ID as proof of age and standing about in pain as the numbing wears off isn’t as difficult as trying to shove the ibuprofen and amoxicillin over what you believe to be an engorged tongue (when really, everything is just numb) and dribbling enough water for you to swallow.

So, that loopy feeling that you’re supposed to have pain killers? Nothing. The extreme pain? Not really. Discomfort? Oh yes!

It’s one of those times that you thank websites like Seamless and Delivery.com, because there really is no way to phone in an order and you don’t want to go outside at all, especially since for the first few hours, your mouth looks like you were part of Tyler Durden’s Fight Club. But after living off congee and being holed up for two days, there’s nothing like showing your blown-up face off to the world in all its glory by grocery shopping for Orthodox Easter and treating yourself to tea and much more savoury soft foods.

There you go, my somewhat forgotten about and somewhat loved wisdom teeth are now lost, hacked into little bits and only to be remembered by a $2000+ bill. At least, they chose to leave some kind of impression on my life (although I’d have just preferred the sentimental value of keeping the large chunks of enamel as opposed to the tab).

May 6, 2013 0 comments
Life On Hold

Life On Hold

uncertainty Life On Hold

Uncertainty

Everything is on pause.

There aren’t any plans to be made or had.

The only continuity I see these days is the greeting of a continuous stream of uncertainty. My physical existence lives suspended, hanging in its self-defined purgatory, whereas my mind finds itself constantly reeling. There is nothing static in my thoughts, they race like a hamster on a treadmill – continuously pedalling to no definitive end.

The fog of “what ifs” and false array of “back-up” plans swirl around me – my very own consciousness suffocates me. The awareness of my situation as I follow along on popular immigration blogs offers sharp jabs whenever I wade through the comments, looking for hope.

But that’s all it is – hope. We’re all just waiting, hedging our bets in the first lottery since 2008.

I waver in what I tell friends. Some days I express nonchalance, other days I am unfazed by it all, but then there are the days where they can see that I am downright terrified. It doesn’t matter that I know that alternatives exist, because when you’re vying for that something so badly, everything else sits in the periphery of what one can handle at that moment. Fear – that eroding feeling of constant anxiety – is what gets you, and right now, I’m downright scared about losing what I have.

My life is on hold.

I’m clinging onto the doorframe of the present, as everything makes its attempt to pull me forward into the near future. I’m dazzled by the prospect of ideas and plans that run the gamut of exhilarating opportunities to New York City banality. I want to do this and that; I want to have brunch with persons XYZ; I just want to be here. All of what should be simple desire are contingent on this one lucky draw from the lottery or some heavy duty fandangling of alternatives.

And you wonder why teachers always told you never to have all your eggs in one basket. It’s just that, sometimes, it’s inevitable.

P.S. I’ll explicate the H-1B and NEXUS application processes soon enough.

Image via Flickr (user: litherland)

April 29, 2013 0 comments
Letting This One Get Away

Letting This One Get Away

401 dvp Letting This One Get Away

Highway 401 meets DVP at sunset

Speeding down the highway, the odometer’s needle steadily drifted between markers for 100 and 120 kilometres/hour. The exits became less unfamiliar as I left the east end of the GTA (Greater Toronto Area). Then, I quickly looked down at the clock. It was 3:30 PM.

The Crossing Guard would be there. Or at least, I think he would.

I thought about pulling off the expressway, and heading into the collector’s lane to make the local exit. Actually, the idea had crossed my mind before I even left the Whitby Starbucks on Consumers Drive; I would be simply refilling my gas tank there instead of at the station besides the coffee joint. I decided otherwise, refilling the almost depleted tank before heading onto the 401.

Where the exits seem to fly by and missing them become so common, it felt as though everything was frozen in motion and time. The option just made itself so present, signalling me to get off the highway and onto the local roads, en route to the gas station by my old house. You can’t help but ask yourself, though, for what purpose?

There was no plan or follow-through for after pulling into the gas station. Was I just to watch his interactions with other young girls? Or was I to approach him with the burning questions that had followed me for the last four-and-a-half years of why didn’t he have any qualms of what he did, and who his daughter was at the University if she really did teach at NYU like he had said those many years before. The two questions, seemingly so far removed from one another, yet so inextricably close, both stand in equal footing in putting me at unease; the former haunted me whereas the latter kept me on constant guard.

The decision not to press the issue legally was already made on my part. I reasoned after filing my note with the police that I had other things to do than to settle old scores, but that truth was partial. Sure, I may not have cared to have to deal with court appearances and have my identity revealed in exchange, finally, for his, but the decision not to pursue was more so for the third party involved – ZZ Teacher D. Even if the proceedings resulted in nothing on the grounds of it being a “he said versus she said,” ZZ Teacher D would still be dragged into the mess that I dug up on account of she being the one I told and the obligatory respondent. And though I asked her to keep mum, discretion and policies aren’t for minors to dictate.

Those few seconds in which I argued with myself whether or not to go into the collector’s lane quickly passed. I made up my mind. I kept driving. I just kept on driving and sped past the exit signs.

Evidently, all of this gnaws at me still. Letting “this” go without answers isn’t something that I am used to, especially when soem kind of resolve is so much within reach. I don’t get to tie up the loose ends here – they just dangle.

In the midst of it all, I don’t have ZZ Teacher D as a friend anymore – that decision wasn’t mine, she made it without my knowing. And probably, that’s what hurts the most about all of this now – losing a good friend.

In purest simplicity, the only decision I made was to talk about it, and everything else before and thereafter was out of my hands.

Image via Flickr (user: nayukim)

March 26, 2013 0 comments