Anxious, nervous, and scared. The top three emotions I felt when I awoke to the smell of homemade cinnamon rolls and the sound of water coming from the faucet in our new beige double drain kitchen sink. The wool blend carpet was soft against my bare feet as I crawled out of bed and began to walk toward the kitchen. This would be my last real meal for at least a week, if not longer.

My appointment was scheduled for 9:15 a.m. I needed to leave by 8:30. I gulped by last glass of OJ and scrapped the crumbs of the last cinnamon roll off my plate. I wasn’t allowed to wear any makeup, nail polish, or jewelry of any kind− my ears were going to feel so naked without diamond stud earrings. I pulled my favorite pair of Hollister sweatpants out from a drawer in my old wooden dresser I had ever since I was a little girl. I walked into my closet and found a plain ole’ white cotton half sleeve V-neck shirt and put it on. It wasn’t cold outside, so I just figured I would wear a pair of my worn out flip flops. I grabbed my knock-off Chanel bag that was sitting on my end table near my alarm clock, and brushed my teeth one last time before I left the house.

I was calm until I walked into the waiting room. Dr. Paul was going to cut open my gum and remove my wisdom teeth. He explained to me that neither one of my wisdom teeth were attached to any pesky nerves near my jaw, therefore I wouldn’t be in too much pain when the surgery was over. The waiting room had a distinct smell, a mixture of flowers, musty paper, old lady perfume, and a hint of laughing gas. I sat down in a brown leather chair, big enough for two, and waited patiently.

A door opened that led to the rooms where the surgeries and consultations took place. A tall, blonde headed woman blue scrubs stepped into the waiting room, “Meaghen?” she asked. I responded by standing up and following her into a hallway that seemed endless. She led me into a room− the 3rd room on the right to be exact− and told me to sit in the chair. This chair was much like a chair your dentist or orthodontist would use, but had many more things attached to the side. I waited for Dr. Paul, my palms and feet so sweaty I couldn’t stand it. There was a dispenser for hand wipes on the wall above the counter where the shots and utensils lay so content with what they are about to do to my poor mouth. I grab a hand wipe and get the sweat off my palms and through it trashcan built into the counter on my left side. The TV connected to the wall right below the ceiling was on, but nothing that I cared to watch. The blonde haired lady turned on the machine. It was time for laughing gas. She put the device over my nose that allowed me breathe in the unwanted gas. Dr. Paul walked into the room and grabbed the IV from the counter. I gave him my right arm. As that tiny needle drew nearer and nearer to my arm, my body began to tense up. I crossed my feet, legs, and fingers. Dr. Paul stuck in the IV, “count backwards from 20,” he said. “This gas stinks!” I tried to explain that I couldn’t take the smell anymore. “20, 19, 18, 17….. 16…….. 15…. Four.” I counted backwards from 20 and drifted off to sleep without even realizing it.

I was shivering. My teeth were chattering. I was as white as a ghost. I was constantly wondering if I had even had my surgery or not. “That’s it?” I asked Dr. Paul’s assistant, “That’s it!” The blonde lady said this in an excited tone as she assisted me in getting into the wheel chair. I guess it was to make me feel more comfortable. A brown heated blanket was thrown on top of me. It was so warm, but the fibers felt scratchy and worn. There were no sensations of pain coming from anywhere around my jaw. I was tired, couldn’t even open up my eyes. I was now 11:30 a.m. Doped up on pain medication, I drifted off to sleep while waiting to be taken home. My mom helped me into the car. I had to step up to get in; I hurt my ankle, so drowsy. I needed sleep. Sleep in a warm, cozy, king sized bed.