“It’s my winter break and I’m supposed to be de-stressing from freshman finals; please don’t do this to me,” I begged. But my cruel mother would not listen. My wisdom teeth would come out as scheduled. Did she care that I would not be able to go out with my friends and that I would look like a squirrel storing nuts in my cheeks for the winter? Not one bit.
The surgery itself was quick and painless. At least it seemed this way because I was completely knocked out for most of it. Even the first couple of days following the procedure were tolerable as I was given deliriously strong painkillers that tended to make me fall asleep for hours. On the third day, however, after sleeping pretty much for 48 hours straight, I decided it was time to be out and about and start enjoying my time off from school.
I got out of bed and stepped into the shower and felt instantly refreshed from my perpetual grogginess, but I was in for a rude awakening when I looked in the mirror. Who the heck was that staring back at me? My puffy face was unrecognizable. It looked like someone had swallowed me whole and was wearing a caricature of Molly as a mask. I could feel the swelling in my cheeks. It altered the rest of my features. My eyes looked smaller, my nose was blobby and my lips looked spread out and thin.
I stumbled downstairs and decided to unload my discontent on the rest of my family. I don’t think of myself as a shallow person, but I was not used to looking this way and it made me feel upset and unsure. “I am not Molly but someone who ate her, and I refuse to leave this house until I am my self again,” I declared. I popped some more painkillers and indulged in another day of watching TV and napping. I would not let the world see me like this.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, I rushed over to the mirror and decided that I was still unhappy with my face. At this point I was not in as much physical pain, but I still didn’t want to leave the house looking the way I did. Maybe I was a little more shallow about my physical appearance than I realized I would be. Shame on me. But it was true. Not being able to recognize myself was taking a psychological toll. Maybe I was being an over dramatic 18-year-old feeling bad about myself and praying that no one would stop by.
The reality is that we live in a society where looks do matter and people often make snap judgments about others based solely on appearance. In those first few seconds of meeting someone, you see only what they look like, before having the time to find out if they are witty, charming or intelligent.
One of my guilty pleasures is reading those glossy Hollywood-style magazines, but they didn’t really cheer me up when I was in recovery mode, as I was bothered by the thought of the constant pressure most of those celebrities live with –– the pressure to look perfect, wear a certain size, have silky gorgeous hair, and flaunt the perfect clothes.
During my first semester I was cast as Perdita in a student-run production of Shakespeare’s “The Winter’s Tale.” Her character doesn’t even appear until the second act, but until then her beauty is widely praised and revered by all. I was trying to make a good impression in my first college production. I didn’t know I would feel this tremendous pressure to live up to the legendary beauty of Shakespeare’s fictional character who was, by the way, supposed to be as good and gracious as she was lovely. Would people take me seriously? Wouldn’t some people question the casting? I was so nervous about living up to her description that on opening night, it wasn’t just my acting I was worried about; I was shaking in my boots just hoping the audience wouldn’t be too judgmental about the director’s choice for this role. What if they laughed me off the stage? I am happy to report they did not.
But I learned that we do live in a world that is often shallow, and it’s sad. I’d be the first to admit that it’s easy to fall into the trap of caring too much about what we look like and spending too much time and money taking care of looks and appearances. That’s probably why my wisdom tooth ordeal bothered me so much.
Finally after nine long days of listening to me moan and groan, my family had had enough. Did I know how lucky I was, in the scheme of things? If my face stayed puffy forever, so what? I would still be me in the ways that mattered the most: my heart, my head, and everything that makes me unique.
I’m not proud of my attitude during the days following my wisdom tooth surgery. Now fully recovered and back at school, I’ve learned something from my experience and by the way I reacted to it.
Author’s Note: I should probably add for anyone who is now scared to get their wisdom teeth taken out that my experience was not typical as I developed something called dry socket, which happens in less than five percent of wisdom tooth patients and tends to run in families. I know, lucky me, right? Well, that’s something I CAN blame on my mom, I guess.
