I Can’t Feel My Face
Dorothy Du (ISB G10)
Dorothy is an aspiring philosopher and sociologist who loves sharing her perspective on the world.
In this article, she recounts the story of her wisdom teeth removal experience and how, through all the blood and discomfort, she came to discover the significance of pain in our lives.
(T/W Depiction of blood later in the article)
As I tilt back in the dentist’s seat, a cloth with a hole in the middle is thrown onto my face. The texture of the cloth grazes my eyelid, forcing it half shut while the hole is just large enough to allow a glimpse of the outside light to peek through. I move my hand up to adjust the cloth.
“You cannot touch your face,” the dentist says calmly as he pushes my hand away.
“Oh, sorry, I was just trying to adjust the cloth. It doesn’t cover my eyes properly.”
For a split second, the room goes silent, and then the dentist and the nurse let out a chilling laugh.
“Don’t worry; the purpose of the cloth is not to cover your eyes.”
As the anesthesia needle pierces my gums, I realize that if it weren’t for the cloth, hot sticky blood would probably flow down the side of my face like tears, leaving a scarlet trail down my cheeks as it slowly fills the microscopic holes in my shirt.
The procedure, they assured, was rather simple. First, local anesthesia would be applied to my gums, which will spread to numb the majority of my face — my cheeks, my lips, my tongue, and my chin. Next, because my teeth were still buried within my gums, they were going to cut my gums open. Then, they would pull, scoop, and tug until my teeth come out. Finally, after creating a crater in my mouth, they would sew my gums up with a few measly stitches.
“As much as it hurt and as much as I cried, the whole incident gave pain a repulsiveness in my mind that wasn’t present before — and this strong urge to avoid pain might just be the key to my survival.”
It honestly doesn’t seem that bad when you say it like that, and the procedure, to be honest, didn’t hurt that much. Nevertheless, it’s still scary as hell. Feeling the applied and knowing that my gums now had a gaping hole in the back was not a pleasant feeling. Neither was the excessive pulling and tugging that made me feel as if my jaw would be dislocated after the procedure. Finally, the creaking sound that meant the roots of my teeth were finally separating from the rest of my gums was a distressing addition to the sweet piano-accompanied voices coming from my AirPods.
The aftermath was definitely just as horrible. I was in bed when the anesthesia wore off; it hurt so much that I started to cry. And so, there I was, lying in bed, tears flowing out of my eyes, snot flowing out of my nose, and blood flowing out of my mouth. What a beautiful scene that must have been.
My wisdom teeth after being pulled out.
In the days after my removal, I realized I had taken chewing for granted. Every time I tried to chew, food would press my wound like it was trying to pry my gums open and wiggle its way inside. It was a constant cycle of being in pain and looking to food for comfort, then attempting to eat and being in more pain. I could tell you about the time I tried to eat nuts or the time I got small pieces of meat stuck on top of the wound, but that would make this already long experience drag on forever.
The last time I severely injured myself was years and years ago. I had forgotten the details of pain. The feeling in my mind was just a vague notion that I interacted with mainly through films and books; I had no real conception of why pain was something I should avoid.
Therefore, despite the discomfort that my wisdom teeth removal caused me, it also reminded me what real pain felt like. It was different from the small bruises and stubbed toes I was used to. I blamed myself for forgetting about painkillers when I was lying in bed, but maybe it was best that I was reminded of the intense pain. As much as it hurt and as much as I cried, the whole incident gave pain a repulsiveness in my mind that wasn’t present before — and this strong urge to avoid pain might just be the key to my survival.
Think about it, if you are exceedingly repulsed by pain, you will be less likely to harm yourself due to how much you detest the feeling of being hurt.
Therefore, as long as you continue being afraid of pain, you won’t take dangerous risks that have the potential to harm yourself.
For example, if I am about to jump from a high height because something triggered me to make an irrational decision, I might remember how intense pain can be and back away, fearing that breaking my bones will result in me having to experience that feeling again. By trying to find meaning in my suffering, I have concluded that pain will keep me safe: only when we know the feeling will we protect ourselves from it. So, from that perspective, maybe my wisdom teeth removal wasn’t so bad.
DorothyD
