Column:

Pulling teeth and blacking out

By Dan Friesen

Published Aug. 28, 2007

Children, it has been one hell of a week. I had expected it to be; I had dentist appointments Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. I haven't ever taken very good care of my teeth, so it turned out there was a lot of dental work to be done. On Wednesday, I was to meet with an oral surgeon who would take out my wisdom teeth on Friday. On Thursday, I was to get five cavities filled. It would be easy to judge me based on my need for five fillings, but before you do, consider: three of the fillings needed were due to my having a couple old fillings knocked out. Last year, I had a bad habit of spitting in my roommate Nick's face, whereupon he would punch me in the jaw. That led to a few chipped teeth and a few evacuated fillings.

The meeting with the oral surgeon was uneventful. He wanted to explain the procedure, and I wanted to explain how badly I wanted to be knocked out throughout the procedure. Eventually, we agreed: I didn't care what he was going to do to my teeth, and he was going to give me an IV drip of sedatives.

Most people, when faced with a potentially dangerous surgery, get nervous. Not I. I was entirely focused on the sedatives.

How intriguing. I didn't think once about the drilling, about the teeth to be pulled, about the pain that would come afterward; it was all about the IV.

My girlfriend, Liz, wanted very much to keep my teeth, and, in an Angelina Jolie/Billy Bob Thornton move, make a necklace out of them. I was staunchly against this. As I expressed earlier, I don't take great care of my teeth. I didn't expect that when they came out of my mouth, they would look very appealing. So, I told her no.

We went in Friday morning, and I don't remember a damn thing from the point when they hooked up the IV until I woke up at Liz's around noon. I was satisfied with how things went; the procedure didn't hurt, I didn't remember it, and as far as I could tell, things went smoothly.

Then the details started seeping in. I'm sure you've all had a blackout drunk night at some point in your life. Things happen and the next day, your friends tell you all sorts of bizarre things you did the night before that seem out of character. Thankfully, those days are behind me.

Blackouts are strange. On one hand, you remember nothing; you don't remember making any decisions. Yet, you must have, as evidenced by things having happened. I've destroyed tents, pooped on the neighbor's yard, declared that I was gay and spit in my roommate's face during horrible blackouts.

Thus, I was not prepared for the feelings that oozed through me when Liz regaled me with stories of my glad-handing with the surgical staff on my way out of the office. I apparently was like Hillary Clinton in a crowd of black people.

When Liz later pulled my teeth out of her purse, I instantly convinced myself that she had pulled a fast one while I was sedated. She said the doctors told her I insisted they give them to her. How could I possibly refute her claims?

So, though I wasn't in physical pain, I was in a state of emotional pain, a shameful state caused by my overly-friendly behavior at the dentist's office, my blacked-out thoughtfulness about the teeth and the mystery of what else I could have done or said while sedated.

To compound things, on Thursday, the dentist only wanted to put in two fillings, thus necessitating another appointment. They scheduled it for Sept. 11. The downside: I have to spend more time with other people's hands in my mouth. The upside: I'll finally share that negative association with 9/11 that everyone else in this country seems to have. We must never forget ... the day I get three more fillings.