I'm going to call this tooth Marvin, to
try to keep this simple and so that my other wisdom teeth don't get
unfairly blamed because, quite frankly, the other three have all been
fairly well behaved.
Marvin...what the actual fuck?
Here is my timeline.
6 months ago:
Marvin is kinda
beginning to poke through and is causing some distress. I go to see a
dentist.
Am told that this
is normal. That he'll be fine. That maybe I should get an x-ray just
to make sure. But whatever. No biggie.
Who me? X-ray?
Pfft. If it's not life or death I just can't be bothered. I've got
bigger fish to fry! Bigger stones to throw! Bigger essays to write!
(once again, today I am of course procrastinating)
[Friday] Three days ago:
Marvin is
beginning to twitch.
Shutup Marvin. No
one even likes you.
3am Saturday Morning:
Marvin has brought
all his friends to the party and they're getting stuck into the
tequila. They're waking the neighbours!
I stumble out of
bed and down a couple panadol.
Suck on that
Marvin. You stupid twelvie. You're so far behind the rest of my teeth
anyway. Who the fuck do you think you are to just show up now and
claim some right to territory in my mouth, huh?
9am Saturday morning:
I look in the
mirror and I see this weird lump. Like I've got a gobstopper tucked
inside my cheek. Except I've got no gobstopper. I've just got Marvin.
And he's unhappy.
11pm Saturday Night:
I decide to nip
Marvin's temper tantrums in the bud and take some pre-sleep panadol.
1.30am Saturday Night:
Marvin is driving
a pickaxe through my skull. I can barely open my mouth because of the
swelling. I can't sleep. I decide the only cure is the mini chocolate
cupcakes I bought last night.
I bite into one. I
am so wrong.
I don't even care.
I eat it anyway. Then I eat the paper too. It's weird and gross. I
know. But I just don't even care. I'm delirious. The pain is making
me crazy. I take more panadol. Then I take even more. Then I read the
instructions on the back and I'm like. Fuck. Too much panadol.
Then I eat another cupcake. I
don't eat the paper this time. I turn on the t.v. There will be no
rest tonight. Marvin is playing dubstep in my mouth and my whole head
is throbbing rhythmically to the beat.
Sunday:
I
cancel work and drive home to sulk. I can't even look at myself in
the mirror but if I put my hand under my left cheek I can play with
the swollen, globby flesh that's hanging down there.
I
am unhappy
Monday
morning:
Mum
(god bless her!) has talked my way into the overbooked dentist
surgery. I jump out of bed and we drive down. The dentist look in my
mouth and is like
'…
oh my god sweetie. This is... special'.
Looks
like my Marvin is one of those kids who everyone tells you is gifted
and talented but who is actually just incredibly anti-social and has
anger management issues.
So
I'm going to see the specialist today. And then hopefully surgery at
some point in the near future. I want to take a quick moment to
apologise to my parents for being such a medical disaster my whole
life. Neither of my sisters have ever had anything wrong with them,
have never been hospitalised with any freak disease. I however have
been a constant source of trauma. It's part of my personality to
never do anything by halves. Seems like my body also takes that
stance. If something is going to go wrong with me. By god it goes
wrong. Either I'm running 10kms and doing Tough Mudder with my
friends, or I am literally at death's door with some rare and
incurable strain of the common cold. Its either one or the other with
me it seems.
Most
children are able to play in a kiddie pool incident free.
But
I'll get a hernia and have an operation thanks!
Most
people are able to travel without injury.
Don't
mind if I go to America, kick the ground and break my leg!
Some
people might sprain their ankle once in a while.
I'll
get this...
How naive of me to expect that getting my wisdom teeth to be any
different.
