Wisdom Teeth: Extracted!

So! After 4 years of my wisdom teeth slowly and excruciatingly pushing themselves into my mouth, I got them removed. They were as "in" as they were going to get. Three of them were fully in, and a fourth was impacted. Gross. Basically what this means is it would continue to try to burst through the tender pink flesh which is my gums, unsuccessfully, until the day that I die, and probably still thereafter. What it also means is that because it was unable to fully burst through, there would always be a little fleshflap on top of the tooth for food to conveniently get stuck under. Also gross. This year I got dental insurance. Let me tell you, what a great idea! For about 3.69 out of my check/week I was able to get the entire procedure, including anesthesia at no cost to myself. Awesome. Totally awesome. The experience? Well I arrived starved and parched the morning of my surgery (of course you can't eat or drink for 10 hours before the procedure). I am led into a room where they attach heart monitors to my legs and arms, as well as a stethoscope that gets bound around my throat. I did not like that part. Next they start an IV with some magic stuff in it that makes me feel woozy. They talk to me about movies I have seen recently and pop culture. They slip a mask on my face, and the next thing I know (literally, it felt as if no time had passed) I am awoken and told that the procedure was over. Awesome! Next I am led into a recovery room to lie down and watch the post-op at home care video, which I sleep through. I try to talk to my sister about my gumholes, but she thinks I am saying gumballs. Oh well. I spend the next 20 minutes throwing up in the recovery room before they decide maybe they should do something about it. I am led back into the OR, where they sit me on the chair, give me a shot of something to settle my stomach and push IV fluids. I thank the assistant for being so nice to me. After what I think is about 15 minutes, but I am later informed is more like 45, I am finished. My sister leads me to my car and drives me to her house. I spend the rest of the day half asleep on my mother's couch. My father and sister take turns napping with me/watching animal documentaries/making sure I have enough pudding, water, and Vicodin in my system. When my mother arrives home she begins making soup for me. She also writes out a chart of when to take what medication. My boyfriend calls me to check in, and I am so overjoyed to hear his voice that I cry a little bit. The highlight of this experience for her is that I allow her to spoon feed me vanilla pudding while she talks to me. My mom is an LPN, so she does this kind of thing all the time with her patients. The fact that I let her do this with me puts her over the moon. Around 8 PM, my boyfriend comes and picks me up. Somehow my car is already at my house. He drives me home, and I try not to throw up. I spend the next day on my couch, devouring pudding and home made chicken soup in a Vicodin haze. A week later I accidentally pull out my stitches, but it is okay. Now I am completely healed aside from these weird gumholes I have.