Personal Narrative: My First Surgery

Under the knife I remember my very first surgery. It wasn’t major but to me, an 8-year-old child, the thought of having needles and knives and people all around me scared me awfully. When my mom first told me I’d have to have teeth removed I thought I was going to die. “We have to go have some of your teeth pulled” she told me.

“Can’t I just keep them?” I asked her.

I don’t think I slept at all that night. All I could think about was having some teeth ripped out of my mouth. And to be awake through it all? I couldn’t even begin to fathom how painful it would be to have this done to me. I didn’t sleep at all. The next day I awoke as stressed as could be, I couldn’t keep anything down as the thought of unbearable pain ran laps around my mind. As I lay in bed I hear my mom yell up at me to get dressed, it was time to go. As

“Sure” I thought. At this point we had arrived at the actual building and I kept thinking I wasn’t going to make it out, like I was going to have open heart surgery or something. The whole waiting room smelled of a doctor’s office which bred even more fear within me. And before I knew it my name was the one being called out. It was time. As I crossed that threshold, the point of no return, which was really just a door, I grew to be more and more scared. Eventually we came to the room. It was just as I had imagined. A blank, plain white room, illuminated by only one fluorescent light. After having been seated for quite a while the doctor came in and explained what would be going on. I was mortified to hear him explain how they would go about yanking out my teeth. And before I knew it was time for them to start. They leaned me back in the chair and began to talk among themselves. I was trying to mentally prepare myself for the pain. The doctor came in with a syringe full of something.

“What’s in that?” I asked.

“This is going to numb your mouth so you can’t feel it,” the doctor