Toothless

 

Oh, holy heck, this is practically gonna be me by this afternoon. I'm having oral surgery this morning, which will involve several tooth extractions. I think my blood pressure is rising just at the thought. 

I'm scared -- it's really going to be a painful weekend. I'm embarrassed (so of course, my first thought is to put it out there for everyone to know). And I'm sad thinking about everything I'm not going to be able to eat for a long time. Mostly, I'm sure going to miss crunching on ice.

Of course, crunching on ice is part of the problem. How my teeth fell into such a sad state is an "if you give a mouse a cookie" kind of scenario.

It's starts with bad genes (love you Mom & Dad!). Bad dental genes from my dad. Bad esophageal genes from my mom. Years of reflux, which resulted in the upflow of acid. Nexium to control the reflux, but resulted in low iron. My beloved ice chewing habit as a result of the low iron. Lots of Diet Coke to give me energy that the low iron zapped. Enamel erosion from the Diet Coke and 'round and 'round it goes. 

Sure, now I can look back and see all of the things I could have done to interrupt the cycle. But I wasn't looking at the big picture. Excuses, excuses, I know. It's all on me and my rotten teeth.

Could I have done something in the meantime to fix them? Yep. But have I mentioned I hate the dentist? Not the dentist the person. I really like her and her staff. But the whole idea of dentistry -- sharp poky things jabbing my gums, someone with their face close enough to see boogers, high-pitched squeals and scritch-scratchiness, all that saliva. It's really an assault to the senses. 

Every time I go for a cleaning, I sit in the chair and my whole body tenses up, starting with my toes. Not to mention that its the start of a 5-month relationship to fix this or that and then some. By the time things got fixed, it would be time for another cleaning. Plus, the x-rays? I throw up…every darn time. The last time I was there for x-rays, they tried to halt the gag reflex by covering my tongue in salt. It was insult to injury. Over the years, I developed a very protective habit of canceling dental appointments. 

So, here I am, two hours away from beginning my long-term diet of soft foods. Oh, ice I'm so going to miss you. Looking on the bright side, maybe I'll lose some weight. Looking on the realistic side, I'm dreaming of ice cream and pudding and peanut butter. If there's someone who can get fat(ter) by not eating, it will be me.

I have to say that I am looking forward to a mouth that doesn't continually ache from one sensitive tooth or root canal waiting to happen. I've got one tooth that I've been babying with round the clock ibuprofen since Christmas. And the anesthesia? Yep, kind of excited about that, too. Plus, maybe my cheeks will sink in a bit, giving my face an illusion of model-thin?

I suppose this was all meant to be. Really, if you think about it, frogs don't have teeth, right? I'm just playing the part. Catch you all on the gummy side.

Pain in the...

Tonight's post is compliments of the throbbing tooth pain I have going on right now.

The tooth is broken (thanks to my compulsive ice chewing habit) and was supposed to have a root canal on February 1. Yes. Almost 3 months ago. But something happened on February 1 and I had to change the appointment. Then the ice storm hit and I canceled the appointment. Then my tooth stopped hurting and I figured I had better things to do with my $600.

About a week ago, I got a really painful reminder to reschedule that appointment. It came in the form of searing, straight to my brain agony while I was chewing on some ice. (I know...)

Since then, I've been keeping up a regular schedule of ibuprofen, which seems to hold it to a dullish roar. The tooth in question is on the upper right side of my mouth, but the throbbing wraps itself around both the upper and lower right side like a very cantankerous retainer.

Tomorrow afternoon, I go for a consult to see if there's enough of the broken tooth left to try to save it. At this point, I feel like a pregnant woman in her 40th hour of labor (which I actually have experience in) -- I just. want. it. out.

So if the next post you see from me seems like it was written by someone under the influence of laughing gas, you'll know that at least my tooth doesn't hurt any more.

As if Mondays aren't bad enough

There are many a Sunday night when I find myself dreading Monday morning, wishing I had just one more day of the weekend to relax or get things done around the house. Tonight, I'm dreading Monday morning for a whole different reason -- I'm getting a root canal in the morning.

Sadly, this isn't my first root canal. But it's been quite a while since I've had one and I don't remember a whole lot about it. I remember the last time I had one, the endodontist's office had quotes written on the ceiling tiles. I thought that was pretty considerate since the patients have to lay there staring at the ceiling for hours on end.

How many hours is it? I don't remember. And I don't remember what kind of anesthesia they offer. I'd prefer to be completely knocked out. Or at least looped up pretty good. But I know I remember that I drove myself home, so I'm pretty sure neither of those things will happen.

I wasn't really surprised when my dentist told me I need a root canal. The tooth in question has been bothering me (read: throbbing) off and on for a while. But I HATE the dentist. Well, not the dentist herself, but what happens at the dentist.

First, there are the x-rays with the films that never fail to gag me. I've thrown up in the dental chair during x-rays more than once. Then the hygienist uses an ultrasonic cleaner to get at the plaque on my teeth and it's like scraping fingernails across a chalkboard. Then she starts digging at my gums with the mini pick axe. All the while, my body is tensing up, preparing for the impact in my mouth.

Then the dentist comes in, looks at my teeth and the x-rays and delivers the inevitable bad news. Last time, it was REALLY bad. And the root canal was just the tip of the iceberg. There is so much work that needs to be done in my mouth, that the dentist asked if she could confer with her billing specialist to come up with a treatment plan and to prequalify the work with my insurance. There goes the thoughts for a trip to Disney World!

So the every six months cleaning leads to a long-term relationship with the dentist to get everything fix and culminates in the next six-month check up where the whole ridiculous thing starts again.

That's why I was serious when I said I'd rather have a mammogram than a teeth cleaning.

It's not like I don't brush my teeth. I do -- at least twice every day. Admittedly, I'm not much of a flosser unless something is stuck in my teeth. But I think my genes are working against me in this battle (I have my dad's bad teeth), so I kind of feel like I don't have much control.

No matter. Tomorrow morning will find me in the chair at the endodontist, hoping for a little laughing gas cocktail and looking forward to my indulgent, post-root canal nap.