So now I am wisdom toothless, dentally regressed back to adolescence. Thank heavens that's only a sort of figurative state, as it were. Imagine having to be a teenager again??!! Ugh. Everyone was extremely kind, even the anaesthetic nurse who stabbed me repeatedly with the needley things, and had the temerity to say she couldn't get the cannula in because of *my* wiggly veins (I dunno, wiggly teeth, wiggly veins ... should I rename the blog "attentionallwiggles"?).
Hubby goes on 20 March for the same torture. I really hope he doesn't feel as bad as I did post-op. I cried in recovery. All I could say was "mal" (sore). They said "how sore, on a scale of 1 to 10" and I held both hands up. I'm a baby. If I could have articulated more than one word, I would probably have asked for me Mum. So, they pumped me full of some nice drugs that made me feel sleepy and dribble, which was very pleasant in a strange sort of way.
And can I just say, based purely on our experience of French healthcare (and I hope none of you ever find yourselves in a situation where you need to choose), better to be in a private clinic than a public hospital because it's cleaner. Everything was clean. When Hubby was in a public hospital last year with his ankle, it was pretty grotty actually. The staff were very kind and competent, but it was dirty. And they were chronically short-staffed. The poor nurses were desperately over-stretched. Not in the private clinic. But that's one person's experience and cannot be generalised, I hasten to add.
And as for the tube in my nose, I have no recollection of that at all! I think I wasn't really all that conscious when I first came round. And that will make sense to anyone whose brain works like what mine does.
Thank you everyone for your kind comments. I much appreciate your indulgence of my scaredy cat-ness!! And I hope your wisdom teeth aren't wiggly xx