Americans must have zero tolerance for pain. Last week I had one of my remaining two wisdom teeth extracted (the final one being so calcified over with bone that to remove it would mean cutting a hole in my jaw, which I didn’t fancy). I scheduled my appointment for 8:00am to minimize the interruption to my workday, and drove there straight from the office (where I’d already fitted in 2 or 3 hours of work). The first red flag went up when the receptionist asked me who had come with me to “take me home, afterwards” as I’d be in no condition to drive. I told her that I’d take care of myself, or walk the couple of blocks back to work if I had to, but she wasn’t having any of it, and refused to even let me check in until I’d called someone to arrange to be collected. So I had to call a colleague (thanks, David!) from work – whilst the receptionist eavesdropped – and ask him to pick me up in an hour. Still, at least they let me in.
For the ‘operation’, I was given an intravenous injection of something, an air supply of nitrous oxide, and a series of injections all around the offending tooth. I’m not sure all of this was strictly necessary – last time I had wisdom teeth extracted (in Belgium) I only got the injections, and was right as rain. Anyway, all the drugs kicked in very quickly and I didn’t feel a thing (which I guess is the point) – although the nitrous (a.k.a. laughing gas) was nothing like the ‘euphoric trip’ I had hoped for. If only they gave you something to stop you hearing the creak/crack as they pull the tooth out it would have been a relatively pleasant way to spend the 15 minutes it took.
The anesthetic wore off about as fast as it took effect, and I was back on my feet in no time (much to the concern of the dental assistant, who was adamant I sit – if not lie – down). My ride was late (held up in a meeting) so I went to wait outside. “Ooh no, we can’t let you do that – you’re not allowed to leave the building without an escort”. Well can I go sit in Reception and flick through your collection of last-year’s ¡Hola Texas! whilst I wait? “No.” Am I at least allowed to look out of the window, then? “…”
By the time David turned up I felt 100% fine. I would have driven myself back to work, but I felt guilty about dragging David out so I hitched a ride back with him. The receptionist told him he had to drive me “straight home – not to work”. I don’t know what they though we were – like the odd couple or something…
But the mollycoddling wasn’t over. I’d been give a prescription for antibiotics (those nasty little ones that make your pee smell) and a course of industrial-strength painkillers that I had to “start immediately to stay ahead of the ‘pain curve’”. Really. The several pages of fine-print that came with the painkillers said they would “cause drowsiness” which wasn’t good when I had a full day’s work ahead of me, so despite the risk of doubling over in excreciating pain (I know what I said!) I didn’t take them. And miracle of miracles, I was fine. No pain; no bruising; no swelling; nothing apart from some over-long sutures that felt like a couple of spider’s legs dangling inside the back of my mouth.
Now, I’m no Biffa Bacon, and as my wife is happy to point out, my threshold for pain is actually pretty low. But the fuss made over this extremely minor procedure is just absurd. Methinks the Americans are a nation of namby-pamby panty-waists, who can’t bear the slightest pain.  Actually, I think there are two things driving it: (1) Americans love to sue, and if they weren’t ‘protected’ (i.e. cosseted) to the fullest extent possible, dentists and doctors would be sued out of existence by the growing tide of lawyers representing people claiming ‘emotional distress’ because they actually felt the doctors and dentists doing their job. (2) The American pharmaceutical industry is very good at ‘encouraging’ doctors to use their products – from the IV-something, to the nitrous oxide, to the ‘painkillers’, so people are prescribed things they don’t actually need. And Americans wonder why their healthcare system is so expensive!
Next time I need a tooth removed I’m going to do it the old-fashioned way: just go out and pick a fight with a complete stranger…
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