Thursday, April 12, 2012

Don't Cut Me, Bro!

Picture of Stewie's evil teeth is not entirely unrelated.

I do not like hospitals. I don't hate them, I just don't like them. Also needles.

The main reasons I do not like hospitals are: they contain sick people, new born children, those close to death, those who have seen death, played a quick game of Connect 4 and survived, and semi-robotic doctors and nurses who want to stick needles in me.

Also because of the game Bioshock. I both love and fear that game with a passion but it screws with my head and reminds me why I hate people in nurses outfits.

The reason I'm explaining my fear of hospitals is because I have to go into surgery tomorrow to get my wisdom teeth removed. I have never been to a hospital before. Well, I might have been there twice, once when my brother broke his arm and once when my auntie had a baby. Both of these things happened when I was under the age of 10 so naturally I don't remember them in the slightest.


And I would have loved to have kept that record going for another 20 - 70 years, but sadly my streak ends tomorrow. When I walk in tomorrow all I'm going to be picturing are these guys:

Funny as they are, I do not want any of them as my doctor. Nor do I wish that a handsome single young man walks in with a clipboard and we somehow magically hit it off, start dating, marry, have children and all that jazz, as we will soon have a doctor in the family through my brother's charm and I don't want to seem like a copycat. Oh and I don't understand the obsession people have with marrying doctors. It's a stressful job and you will barely ever see them. Give them respect and admiration, but don't marry 'em is my opinion (just ignore it, everyone else does).

It's been super wonderful telling people I'm getting my wisdom teeth out, as for some reason it seems like a good inclination to share all the horrendous stories they know about other people who have also had their wisdom teeth removed. NONE OF THEM ARE COMFORTING.

I've heard things like
"I knew a guy that actually had 6 wisdom teeth so he had to get them removed twice."
and "Oh I've had 8 teeth pulled. First for braces, then for my wisdom teeth."
and also one of my favourites "There was a mix up with the forms and my friend had his appendix removed instead."
I may not use it but I'm actually quite attached to my appendix.

Oh but the painful story award goes to my father who shared with me the lovely fact that he has a higher resistance to drugs than normal humans and required triple the amount of anaesthesia to get him fully under for his surgery. My father's body decided that he would not like to be asleep and started to rouse him during the operation also, prompting yet ANOTHER dosage of drugs.

Wanna know a fun fact about me? I take after my father . . .

Wanna know another fun fact about me? I have a phobia of needles.

Wanna laugh at me as I struggle to sit still and not faint in the waiting room for my surgery tomorrow? Sure thing! Come and join in! It'll be a blast! I especially love the part where I lose control of my consciousness and roll onto the floor! That'll get me a round of applause!

However, despite my neurosis, I will be relieved to be getting rid of the little bastards. The suckers have been coming in at every angle and just tearing up my mouth like old time cowboys in a bar fight.

Typically tactic: Come at it from a different angle.

They shouldn't be called wisdom teeth. They should be called Devolution Is A Bitch teeth. Why couldn't I be one of the lucky ones born without them?! Why?!

(Because then I wouldn't be able to compose such eloquent blog posts about my fear of needles and hospitals).

Well, if I don't post anything in the next week or so, you'll know I'm dead. Or, possibly the wisdom teeth were just blocking my wisdom and I will have decided that blogging actually isn't that big of a deal and you will never hear my madness again.

Time to write a Will!

I suppose it doesn't help I'm listening to Marilyn Manson right now . . . meh.

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