OH NOT THE WISDOM TEETH pt. 1
“Ok we got the
topical numbing
agent rubbed in,
so you won’t
feel the IV to
much,” Plankton’s
dentist says. Karen,
Plankton’s wife, sat
right by the operation
chair. Plankton’s
getting his wisdom
teeth pulled out under
anesthesia, hence the IV.
They put the IV in his
numbed arm. “Now
Mr. Plankton, can you
count for me?”
Plankton nods, “One, two,
three...” His eye starts
to glaze over. He
slurs a bit at the
four. “Five... six...
sev... sev... sev...”
His voice trails off
into a gentle snore
as the anesthesia takes
effect. Karen, with a
sigh of relief, watches
his body relax into
the chair.
The surgery room's
lights shine down
brightly on Plankton's
open mouth, his teeth
now a battleground.
The dentist, with a
steady hand, picks up
the forceps and begins
his work. The chair
squeaks slightly as
the team of oral
surgeons move around.
Karen's eyes are
glued to the
monitor, where an
inside view of the
procedure plays out.
The sound of bone
crunching fills the
silent room, making
her cringe, but she
forces herself to watch.
The dentist, with a
concentrated expression,
works with precision.
Sweat beads form on
his brow as he
maneuvers around the
stubborn tooth. His
assistant, a young
fish named Bubbles,
hands him tools with
quick, efficient movements.
They work in silent
harmony, their eyes
never leaving the
monitor or Plankton’s
mouth.
On the screen, Karen
can see the tooth’s root,
snaking deep into
Plankton’s jaw. The
tension in the room is
almost palpable, the
only sounds the steady
beep of the heart
monitor and the occasional
slurp of saline.
The dentist’s face
remains calm and
focused, his grip on the
forceps firm. He leans
in closer, his eyes
squinted as he tries to
see better. Karen’s
heart skips a beat as
the instrument clamps
down on the tooth. She
can almost feel the
resistance it gives, and
holds her breath.
With a quick, decisive
movement, the dentist
yanks the tooth free.
A moment of stillness
follows, the only
sound the quiet thud
as the tooth hits the
tray. Then, a trickle of
blood. Plankton’s chest
rises and falls evenly,
his snores the only
proof he’s alive. Karen
reaches over to squeeze
his hand.
The second tooth
proves more stubborn.
The dentist wiggles the
forceps back and forth,
the sound of bone
grinding echoing.
Bubbles darts in with
a suction tube, clearing
the way for the
doctor to work. The
tension builds as they
wrestle with the tooth.
“Almost got it...”
the dentist murmurs,
his voice tight with
concentration. The
monitor shows the root
slightly loosening, and
Karen’s grip on Plankton’s
hand tightens. The room
seems to shrink around
them, the air thick with
the scent of antiseptic
and the faint metallic
tang of blood.
With a final, forceful
tug, the second tooth
gives way. The room
exhales collectively as
it’s removed. Bubbles
quickly steps in to apply
pressure to the wound,
stemming the flow of
blood. The monitor shows
the tooth, now free from
its bony prison, lying
on the tray beside the
first one. Karen feels
a weight lift off her
chest. Plankton’s snores
remain steady, oblivious
to the victory just won as
they inject numbing
anesthetic agents into
his gums.
The third tooth is a
quick extraction, and
the fourth is a slow,
careful dance. The
monitor shows every
detail in stark clarity:
the blood, the bone,
the delicate dance of
the instruments.
Plankton’s snores
remain consistent, a
comforting reminder
that he’s okay, that he
feels no pain. The
team works in silent
harmony, each movement
choreographed to perfection.
Bubbles disposes of the
wisdom teeth as the dentist
uses dissolvable stitches
to sew the gums shut.
Karen’s eyes never
stray from the monitor,
watching as the gaping
sockets are cleaned and
packed with gauze. The
whole process seems to
move in slow motion, each
second stretching into
eternity.
The last stitch is
placed, and the dentist
gives a reassuring
smile. “All done, Mrs.
Plankton. Everything
went perfectly. Your
husband will be out cold
for a few more minutes,
but he’ll be okay. We’ll
take him and you into the
recovery room now so he
can wake up.”
The chair reclines
slowly, and Plankton’s
body is carefully
moved to a gurney. Karen
follows closely behind,
still holding his hand, her
eyes never leaving his peaceful
face. The wheels squeak as
the gurney rolls down the hall
to the recovery room, a softly
lit space that feels like a
contrast to the harshness of
the surgery.
The nurses are gentle as
they transfer him to the
recovery bed, her mind
racing with every jostle.
The machines beep in a
comforting rhythm, and
Plankton’s chest rises and
falls steadily. She watches
his closed eye, yet
his sleep remains deep.
The nurse checks the
monitors and nods, her
scales glistening under
the soft lights. “He’s doing
well, Mrs. Plankton. We’ll
keep an eye on him here
for a bit longer. The drugs
may take some time to
wear off completely.”