Because, clearly, one post on wisdom teeth just was not going to cut it.
I finally got everything sorted out. Insurance. Oral surgeon. Appointment time.
SO MANY PHONE CALLS.
It’s been illuminating, figuring all of this out. I don’t like this part of the adult world.
My surgery is scheduled for the same time this post goes live, which means, if you’re reading, I’m either having my wisdom teeth out or I already have.
I carried a lot of anxiety about this. Some of you probably know that already. It didn’t dissipate as I got closer to operation day. In fact, it grew stronger, because I had a week-end in front of it, which meant time to think about it.
They played a quick video at my consultation yesterday about third molar surgery. Most of it I had been told already.
Thankfully, this included the part where anesthesia carries a risk of death.
A RISK OF DEATH.
“That’s why anesthesiologists get paid so much,” my brother said flippantly when he told me this a few weeks ago.
Seriously, having a nurse-in-training for a sibling is the best and worst thing that could have ever happened to me. He actually sounded genuinely excited when I told him he gets to spend tomorrow morning playing nurse. (I was like, “We’ll have SO MUCH FUN!” To which he said stoically, “You’ll be sleeping. I’ll check your respirations every half hour.”
So it was the point in the video where I was reminded four teeth have basically taken MY ENTIRE LIFE into their tiny, enameled hands that I began to fear.
I’m not squeamish, per se, but whenever someone tells me a story about, for instance, someone breaking their ulna in half and the ulna being compelled to get some fresh air and say hello, my arm will start to tingle. It’s as though all the nerves in my arm are standing on edge, pointing little weapons in the ulna’s direction, ready to retaliate should it dare to make a break.
(I’m actually really attached to having bone and skin intact. It’s weird, I know.)
Well, thanks to general anesthesia’s potentiality of fatality and 3-D models of impacted and decayed teeth and dry socket, my entire nerve system went into overdrive and I could not sit still.
I imagined God saying, “Fear Me, not the circumstance;” the lesson, remnants of Sunday’s message, written in my Bible in the margin alongside Isaiah 8:13; literally, I wrote, “Fear God, not the circumstance: wisdom teeth (6.3).”
This is not the first time I have looked Jesus figuratively in the eyes and said, “I trust You to handle this as You will, even knowing I risk my life by doing it.” But it is the first time I knew I had a deadline on it.
So I took a deep breath and remembered that phrase and tried to rest in God’s sovereignty. And I watched the video and started worrying about other, equally critical issues.
You know, like what I’m going to eat for the next two days.
I’m all stocked up on chicken noodle soup and Jell-O and yogurt and I even had me a frappuccino this afternoon so I could enjoy drinking something through a straw while I was still able but y’aaaaaaall, all I could think about today was soup and Jell-O and tomorrow I know all I’m going to want are pretzels and tortilla chips and a Starbucks frappuccino WITH A STRAW.
Pray for me.
And for my family.
It’s going to be a rough few days for