Now I’ll admit, I’m a hypochondriac; but with good reason. I’m allergic to half the planet- literally. This includes shellfish, eggs, milk, wheat, ants (which I discovered by going into anaphylactic shock), yeast, dairy, medications, and so much more. Seriously, there is so much more. So naturally when it came time for me to have my wisdom teeth removed, I was more terrified about the possibility of me dying from a reaction to the medication than the actual pain of having scalpels digging into my exposed gums.

I consulted with two oral surgeons before going through with the procedure. I personally preferred the very easy-on-the-eyes one named Derek, (who reminded me of Patrick Dempsey) but, of course, we ended up going with the not as attractive- yet just as well-equipped doctor who belonged to another practice. This is probably a good thing in the long run since I could have come out of the procedure saying all kinds of things to my dentist who had a striking resemblance to Derek Shepherd from “Grey’s Anatomy.”

Before I knew it, my Thursday consult with my oral surgeon turned into the fast-track booking of the coming Monday’s wisdom teeth removal. I had decided the sooner I could get these teeth removed, the sooner I could stop writing my own eulogy. I was also headed to New York City later that month and did not want the image of bloody gums and nauseating medications waiting for me back in Florida. Did I mention all four of my teeth were burrowed underneath my tender gums? Yeah, they were.

As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac and aspiring surgeon, my thoughts leading up to the surgery were everything but normal. Instead of worrying over the pain or lack of comfort I would be in, I struggled with memories of anaphylactic shock and rashes- not to mention my fear of crash carts and codes. I know this sounds dramatic, but as a time bomb and medical fanatic, this seemed to be the most reasonable state of mind I could have. Yes, I’ve had surgery before, but I was six and, well, that is a different story.

The night of my wisdom teeth extraction, I dreamed that I had already undergone the procedure and was dealing with noticeable, but not overwhelming, pain. Boy, was I wrong. I walked into my 10:00 a.m. appointment praying that nothing would go terribly wrong. When I was called back, I waited for a while until they sedated me. I don’t even remember feeling like I was going to sleep. One moment I was listening to the doctors’ conversation, the next I was waking up from the surgery. Coming out of the anesthesia, I thought I knew what I was saying. My mom informed me that while I was falling in and out of my slumber in recovery, I was saying some hysterical things (which I do not remember). I’m pretty sure I asked if they got all my teeth out and if we were done about seven times.

Next thing I knew, my mom pulled the car up to the building and I was being placed in a wheelchair. I was a little dizzy, so it was an interesting experience. The nurse gave me a rose for doing so well in surgery (there were no complications- thank god), and I was suddenly placed in the front seat of my mom’s car.

On the drive home, my mother recorded me through several of my jumbled conversations. I recalled the nurse telling me to keep my eyes open- so I used my fingers as eye-peelers, not to mention my concern during the drive that my mother was bringing me back to the dentist.

As the anesthesia wore off, the pain kicked in. I will spare you from the all-too-graphic parts of my experience during this time frame (you’re welcome).

Since I am allergic to basically every medication, I opted out of the strong (and therefore better) medication for a measly 800mg dose of ibuprofen. A good image for that is if you were to slap a bandaid on a bullet wound. The constant throbbing was one thing to deal with, however, a few hours into my recovery (and Hotel Transylvania 2), I began to have an excruciating sore throat. Now, I’ve had strep throat before, and I had many throat issues when I was little, but this was by far the worst sore throat I could ever imagine. Swallowing literally felt like a bear was ripping down my throat. In fact, each time I swallowed, tears would (uncontrollably, might I add) run down my cheeks. My mom herself told the doctor that I can deal with a considerable amount of pain, so believe me, this was some intense soreness.

The strangest part of this day, however, was my inability to open my mouth further than an ‘o’ shape. I couldn’t stick my tongue out to lick Popsicles and spoons had to be at a leverage for the small bits of Jell-O or ice cream to fall into my mouth (and then, without chewing, slide down my throat). My thoughts after less than 24 hours of post- wisdom teeth extraction recovery? Evolution needs to hurry itself up.

The following week consisted of the same swollen, bruised, agonizingly slow and painful process. Come to think of it, my entire July was a slow and solemn one (excluding my trip to New York, that is). I was unable to do anything at all for a good two weeks after surgery. Pain killers really do allow an individual to return to life faster. But, sadly, I did not have this option.

From the endless stream of doctors appointments and painful bumps in the road, I found a new appreciation for solid food. I missed pizza terribly, there is such a thing as too much ice cream, and I had been craving a salad (my favorite food) and any other food- food I don’t even like- for three weeks. I’m not even a big eater. I usually just have dinner and skip most of my meals. It’s the small things, like non-liquid products, that are the hardest to go without. Let me just put it this way, I dreamt of Cracker Barrel’s biscuits one night and I never even go to Cracker Barrel.

It has been a little over a month since I had my wisdom teeth extracted. My mouth is still healing and sore, and food still takes a light year to eat. I’m sure my experience would have been different if I had not been the first patient out of my doctor’s 14 years and 56,000 wisdom teeth to not ride out the pain with the help of medication. Either way, the yanking of my teeth had to be done. But this could all be prevented if evolution didn’t take a billion years to make its effect.