Gary B Woodcock, DMD

I can’t say I can really compare this jolly fellow to any other oral surgeon. I tend to stay away from the folks that like to poke and prod my mouth, unless these things are absolutely necessary.
This was an emergency, folks. I had been battling an infected, impacted wisdom tooth and the antibiotics the ER gave me were winding down. I had to act fast, and my options were limited. And, I lacked the dreaded DENTAL INSURANCE. /​sigh
After being COMPLETELY f&$%ed over by the Dental Clinic in King’s Beach (spare yourself… not very clean and more unorganized than the European wine bar I managed in SF), I was flustered and had no idea what I was going to do. A bit of research and a sad realization that I had a resounding TWO oral surgeons to choose from, I chose the closest one to my abode: Dr. Woodcock.
I was defeated when I called them on the phone to make an appointment. I lack insurance and I don’t make a ton of money. I was aware every single penny of savings I could muster would be gone in the blink of an eye, but they really could have made it worse.
I had two «easy» teeth to remove and two «hard» teeth (the two «hard» ones had to be broken and removed in pieces and stitched up, so they were slightly more in price). I am also a HUGE PANSY (Hi, I pass out when needles enter my body!), so anestesia was mandatory. I hadn’t been X-​rayed in some time, either, so add that to the bill. /​sigh. The total could have been way worse, especially for a specialty doctor in Tahoe. $ 1,515 total, no insurance, all cash. For all of that. As much as I cringe when I say it, it could have been worse… far worse.
So, the day of my surgery, I follow all of their procedures and deny my body nourishment for six hours (no water/​so hard). I get there, and I wait a little bit over my appointment time, but this is a doctor and we all know they run on their own time. Eventually, I’m taken back to a room and told to watch a video that explains wisdom teeth, the surgery, what can go wrong/​worse-​case scenarios, etc etc and then the doctor comes in and talks to me, shows me my X-​rays (by the way, some SERIOUS space-​age X-​ray stuff going on in that office), discusses my PUTMEUNDERPLEASE options, yadda yadda yadda.
He then goes directly to my boyfriend (my lovely personal nurse waiting to drive me home) and tells him to go get me a milkshake for when my surgery is over.
And here is where they loose a star. It was bound to happen, but I need to explain. The doctor made no mention of an IV. He told me I wouldn’t be put into deep sleep and that I might be aware of some of the surgery (but that I wouldn’t hurt), but he never mentioned a needle pushing into my skin. I AM AFRAID OF NEEDLES, HI. When they told me there was an IV involved, my anxiety about the whole thing went triple-​fold. And all because they didn’t warn me with ample time.
I huffed the shit out of the Nitrous.
All-​in-​all, it wasn’t bad. I thought I was aware through the entire thing, but after realizing the time that had passed when I «came to,» it was apparent that I’m missing a half-​hour or so of memory. I do remember the lovely nurses singing me Girl Scout songs (I have no idea why) and a little bit of Michael Jackson. When the whole thing was practically over, there was a little bit of movie trivia with the doctor and I was able to give a thumbs-​up or thumbs-​down to communicate.
Then they asked me if I wanted my teeth. While I was still loopy as hell. They could have asked me ANYTHING, and I would have said yes. So, now I have this creepy bag of my wisdom teeth. When my boyfriend asked what I was going to do with it, I told him I planned on giving my mother the teeth. Bwahaha.
The surgery itself was top-​notch. The doctor is a pleasant guy, and the nurses are SUPER nice. I have been healing up REALLY well (it’s been eight days, now) and I never really swelled up that bad at all. I never even got close to chipmunk-​status, actually, and I was back to work on a Wednesday (surgery on Monday afternoon). They gave me in-​depth instructions on how to take care of everything and gave me all necessary tools, as well as a much-​needed prescription to some Percocet. (Don’t judge me. I warned you — total PANSY.)
Trust me: I am a complete wimp when it comes to anything medical. I would almost rather die from some horrible illness if it means I don’t have to go under the knife. My boyfriend had to practically drag me in there kicking-​and-​screaming, but Dr. Woodcock and his staff made it all ok. The pain was minimal compared to what it could have been, and it was all very top-​notch care. I highly (HIGHLY) recommend them to anyone who needs to get those stupid «wisdom» teeth pulled. (I don’t really need to, though. Dr. Woodcock is the only doctor within a 45-​minute drive of my house. A lot of people I know have gone to him.)
End scene.