Wisdom Teeth Removal: The Torture Ritual for American Teenagers

My fourteen year old daughter had her wisdom teeth removed yesterday.   The Big E will bang her elbow on the wall and howl like a monkey, but she is stoic in the face of bona fide pain.  When she was four, she had an infected ingrown toenail for several days, and never said anything until she refused to take a bath.  She had wrapped the infected toe in toilet paper.  She had a kidney infection when she was five.  She never complained of discomfort even though kidney infections are notoriously painful.

One of the orthodontists we met recommended removal of her wisdom teeth before The Big E starts orthodontics.  Her bottom teeth were impacted and growing into the roots of the adjacent molars.  So, they had to go.

Had to.  Really?  I felt terrible bringing her to the doctor to have her teeth removed.  Did she really need this done?  I've had my wisdom teeth out.  Jack had his removed.  We survived.  It was slightly painful to to uncomfortable.  Been there, done that.  We survived.  But did we need them out?  Need as in need water, air, food or affection?  I am not so sure.  In some distant future, my molars might have rotted out or there might have been some problem when (if?) I reach 80.

People have lived for centuries with wisdom teeth, as do a vast majority of people in the world today. Was I following along like a lemming the standard practice of middle class Americans to take their children and have their bones and part of their flesh removed, as other societies might perform genital mutilation?  We think that is barbaric.  We have clean facilities for removing teeth and kids are doped up so they feel no pain but seriously, how is this different from other forms of ritual torture for kids?  Everyone goes through it, so we think it is okay.

And everyone remembers have them pulled.  Everyone.  No one says, "I think I might have had them removed.  I don't know.  My mom would remember."  No.  Everyone says, "So sorry to hear.  I hope she feels better.  I remember when I had mine pulled..." It is like some collective torture experience.  Egads.

Anyway, The Big E is doing fine.  Jack insisted on having an anesthesiologist in the room when she had them removed.  He went to the pre-surgery appointment with me and E and made a huge stink that the surgeon planned to monitor the sedation while performing the surgery.

"You know this is against the wah wah wah* standards..." he said, basically undermining her entire method of practice.  Awkward.  But whatever.  He didn't want the surgeon to chose between E's dropping heart rate or stopping her bleeding.  I see his point.

The anesthesiologist used a lighter form of sedation so the Big E was not a zombie yesterday.  She wasn't in pain and she was also coherent shortly after the operation.  In fact, she enjoyed sitting on the couch all day, playing video games, watching movies and Parks and Rec, eating ice cream, smoothies, apple sauce and jello.  When I asked how she was doing, she said this was fun.  "When else are you going to allow me to sit on the couch all day and watch TV?"  There was a downside:  "I am craving potato chips.  And Thai food, fried mozzarella, chicken fingers, pizza..."

The Boy might be having a hard time than the Big E.  Last night, he had a mini-meltdown and we couldn't figure out why.  "I am doomed!  Why should I go on living?"  We are used to his existential angst, and usually we can figure out from whence it hails.  He saw a few years into the future, lying on the couch with bloody gauze stuffed in the corners of his mouth.  My brother was traumatized as he watched me recover.  It was probably worse for him than me, as I was doped up and had the conscious level of a garden slug.  "Aren't you going to do something about this?" he told my mother.  "She looks terrible!"

* Sometimes when Jack talks medicine, he sounds to me like the teacher in Charlie Brown cartoons.  I get the point, but I have no idea what he is saying nor could I repeat it.