Dieting is really hard when your favorite thing in life is food. Ask Oprah... or Kirstie Alley. I doubt two people have ridden the Fight Fat roller coaster harder or more frequently than those two. After millions of dollars worth of endorsements, supplements, personal trainers and gym equipment, they still haven't figured out any secrets to long-lasting weight loss.
But I have.
Two words: Wisdom teeth. I promise, it's that simple. No exercise, no diet (well, technically it is a diet of sorts, but it's not really hard to get used to because of the excruciating pain).
I've put off getting my wisdom teeth yanked for the last three years because a) I'm not a masochist; b) dry sockets sound like automotive parts, not something I want going on in my mouth; c) oral surgery isn't cheap and I couldn't find any dentist who would trade me surgery for good karma. Unfortunately, this spring break was my last as a not-real adult, so I was left with no choice.
I'll be honest. The idea of getting four massive teeth ripped out of my mouth wasn't thrilling, and I was more than freaked about the whole thing. I've never had so much as a cavity, so I had absolutely no idea what range of dental pain I was about to be in, and I didn't really want to find out. But my doctor was really nice and promised to give me some meds afterwards that would make the whole thing worthwhile.
That, however, did not stop me from crying the entire time and demanding three extra shots of local anesthesia. And while it seemed like an appropriate comment at the time, I also probably shouldn't have told the dental hygienist that she was the spawn of Satan as she packed my swollen face full of gauze.
After the surgery, just when I thought my life couldn't get any worse, I was blindsided by the most beautiful gift I've ever been given. Somewhere in the mess of instructions regarding antibiotics and proper care for the new holes in my mouth, my oral surgeon said the words ""weight"" and ""loss"" in the same sentence. I couldn't actually ask him to repeat what he had said—due to the mountains of gauze and crippling pain—but he must have seen my eyes light up like a kid at Christmas because he repeated very carefully:
""Some patients lose up to five pounds in the two weeks during their recovery due to modified, mostly liquid diets.""
Then he started mumbling nonsense about it being normal and gaining it all back, but I couldn't have cared less. All I knew at that moment was for at least two weeks I wasn't going to be able to fill my face with food 24/7—a condition I have that prevents me from ever successfully completing any diet lasting more than two or three hours.
By the time this column prints I'll be a full week into my recovery, but as of now, I'm on day five and I've lost three pounds. Things look promising.
Sure, I can't eat anything more substantial than Jello without grimacing in pain, but isn't pain beauty? Or something like that...?
I'm not an unrealistic person. I know that this is just a temporary fix for a problem that can only solved by eliminating beer and cheese from the face of the Earth, but I'm obviously going to embrace this little godsend while I can.
Over the next two weeks I'm going to conduct all of my bathing suit and summer clothes shopping. By doing so, I can not only assure that my roommate will be seethingly jealous, I also won't have to try to conceal my sobs from the fitting room.
Additionally, I'm going to renew my drivers license and not feel guilty about not adjusting the weight to reflect the weight I've gained since my junior year of high school. I figure, if it's within a 20 pound range, it's not really a lie, and on my wisdom teeth diet, it won't be that big of a stretch. Sort of...
Depending on how svelte I become post-wisdom teeth removal, I might just try out for ""America's Next Top Model"" or sign up for ""Girls Gone Wild,"" whichever one is more popular with skinny, classy girls these days. Make sure you keep a close eye out though, without all my wisdom weight, it's getting hard to recognize me.
If you want to be the person to crush Jillian's dreams and remind her that losing five pounds won't produce any life changing results, email her at jlevy2@wisc.edu.
