I wanna be sedated.

...reflect for five minutes on the fact that all the great religions were first preached, and long practised, in a world without chloroform.

-C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

So I walked into the dentist's office two weeks ago. This was no ordinary visit. Nay, the time had come to remove my wisdom teeth, all four of them.

I had decided to have mine removed using only local anesthesia, meaning I'd be awake during the entire procedure. It can't be that bad, can it? After all, the staff didn't make it sound so bad. One girl remarked she had a hot dog the very same night. And I wasn't the wuss I used to be when it comes to pain. So this will be trivial and pointless, right? Right? Wrong. So very wrong.

I sit down in the chair and try to stay calm. I sign some forms saying that if I die during the operation I won't sue. No problem, corpses can't sue people. The assistant comes in and swabs the inside of cheeks. Usual procedure. Then it's time for the needles. The gums are numbed with that usual weird dull pain for inserting the needle. He gave a lot more shots than I'm used to. My bottom lip is completely numb now. Can't feel a thing.

But teeth are coming out of the top rows too. So here comes the needle. Whoa, why does it look like he's going for the roof of my mouth? That shot hurts like hell. I swear the needle hit bone. And my upper lip isn't nearly as numb as the bottom lip.

All right time for starting yanking these buggers out. Open wide and brace yourself. Dr. Jones tells me to raise my left hand if something hurts and goes for the bottom right tooth. There certainly are a lot of instruments being used to get this thing out. And then the pliers come out. Dude puts a lot of pressure on my mouth and rocks the pliers back and forth. Feels like he could break my nose if he slipped up. And is that a cracking sound coming from INSIDE MY MOUTH? I try to picture being somewhere else, I play music in my head, but no matter what that cracking noise is freaking me out. Before I know it,a little, bloody piece of me has been extracted from my body. That wasn't so bad. I almost want to say goodbye to it.

The upper right tooth decided this was entirely too easy on me. From the moment he touched it I experienced pain. Not enough to make a big deal, but more than all the others. So he starts doing his thing, and I'm really missing that anesthesia. A LOT. Suddenly I hate this man, this monster. I'm picturing him being dissected alive by demonic gremlins. I want to create an alternate universe where the upper right of my mouth doesn't exist. That one bad tooth ruined it for everyone. It's middle school all over again.

Finally, it's too much and I raise my hand. So they give me another shot in the roof of my mouth (whee!) and move on to others while it takes effect. I think they didn't hurt but who the hell knows. I'm too busy thinking all of this blood I've been tasting in my mouth and exhausted from the hell of the second tooth. The butcher, I mean dentist, finishes the other two and comes back to the satanic growth in the upper right of my mouth. At one point he remarks "Your bones are so dense!" This is consistent with how dense I feel for going through this awake. Eventually he rips that one out and then says "OK, we need to suture this". Fun.

So after enduring the pain of having my gums sewed back together, the dentist is finished. It's 9:30 and he's stuffing gauze pads in the corners of my mouth. I look in the mirror while I pay my bill. My mouth is swollen with the extra space the pads have taken up and there's blood on my lip. Oh wait, now I have to pick up a prescription! A mouth filled with blood, barely able to speak, and I have to navigate public spaces? Sounds like fun.

The clerk at the pharmacy says it'll be about thirty minutes. Unfortunately she's a lying bitch. Look, I can see fudging a little bit on time estimates, but I was waiting for ALMOST AN HOUR. Just say "we're incompetent and backed the fuck up and quit bullshitting me". Not wanting to speak for fear of spilling blood on the floor, I use grunts and hand signals to communicate. Thankfully, this works. Finally, my percocet is ready. I mumble something that resembles "Thank you" and quickly find my way home.

At the house I remove the blood-soaked pads, pop in some new ones and bite down to prevent bleeding. I take a percocet and watch some Futurama. Thank God I only have to do this once.