teeth
Pa has been ok, if a little unsteady. Ma says he fell once, but it was a gentle fall, where he sat down unexpectedly on the floor. He wasn't hurt at all, mostly just surprised. He's actually a black belt, and knows how to fall. This is not to say he could never be injjured in a fall, especially if his brain is shut off as in during a seizure. It does mean that he is less likely to sustain serious injury in simple low-speed falls while fully conscious. Less likely than me, probably.
So after more than five, less than ten years I went to the dentist and one thing, another thing, yesterday I also went to the oral surgeon to have a long-time broken tooth extracted. I had quite a bit of anxiety about it; I actually broke it not long after my last trip to the same surgeon, and broke it while eating a piece of white bread of all things. It was sharp at first, but then it wasn't. I kept telling myself, I'll go when it hurts, but it never did.
I went back to the same surgeon as last time. On that occasion he took out my belatedly erupted lower right wisdom tooth, and the molar next to it which had split in half during the collision. I didn't have any pain during the yanking, except I have this thing where my teeth are crap but my roots are amazing. To look at my face you wouldn't think there would be room for that much root in my jaw; even looking at the x-rays it seems unlikely. And so it is that removal involves a lot of physical yanking, and the pain of the empty space is later equalled or surpassed by the pain in my jaw, neck, head, and shoulder.
However I decided that the pain of an extraction would probably be the same whether or not I waited until after suffering weeks of infection-pain, so when the regular dentist said that tooth has to go, I said yes, ma'am. Also, it had risen in its socket over the years, and kept any of my other teeth from meeting properly, so...goodbye. I scheduled with the same surgeon, who I'd forgotten was rather brusque and un-sweet, but that's ok because he's good. Also strong. Also...I have trust.
The last time I went, I had first gone to a regular dentist that time also, as you do. The regular guy did xrays and discovered a lower left wisdom tooth, completely unerupted, lying on its side like a vampire in its coffin inside my jaw. You can have that taken out or not, he said. You really don't have to, unless something goes wrong with it, and you can watch it with regular xrays.
The procedure would have involved having my jaw sawed on, so I said no thank you. But when I arrived at the oral surgeon (whose name is Maxwell) he thought he was taking out that tooth. I would have had unwanted massive surgery because the first dentist is an idiot. But I didn't, because Maxwell is careful. I'll take care-ful over care-bear any day. Also he's good. He got my broken tooth out in about ten seconds, literally, with no cutting and no stitches. I felt the first part go and thought, "Ow, I should probably--" and then the second piece came out and he said, "All done." If I had been able to finish the first thought, it would have said, "I should probably let him know I felt that."
The main thing I did remember from the previous visit was the super-luxe blankie in the recovery room. And--it was still there, or one just like it. I happen to know it was a Martha Stewart blanket from her pre-prison days at K-Mart. I know this because my brother-in-law gave us one for Christmas one year. We wore ours out, but Maxwell still had his. So he's not a care bear, but.
He also listens. He asked if I wanted anything for pain and I said, no I'd take Advil. He said, are you sure, because you don't have to fill it. I said, I don't do Vicodin. He said, How about Tylenol 3. And I said ok, because that shit works for me and I've never had any trouble giving it up. And it doesn't cause me rage. Vicodin turns me into a monster. I've noticed it does this to other people also, but they don't ever seem to believe me.
Mr Moth believes me. He was there when the first dentist prescribed V and after the third dose I turned into Charlie Manson's evil twin.
Oh, Maxwell? gave me his personal cell phone number in case I have any trouble over the holiday. Is that not amazing?
So I drove myself to Revco, now known as CVS, but screw it, filled that script, picked up $80 worth of others as well, and went home to the sofa nest I had built myself before leaving, where I chewed gauze and watched Last Man Standing on Netflix until the numb started wearing off, whereupon I took a codeine tablet and a nap. When I woke up hours later, Zor was up and Mr Moth was home, and I was in moderate discomfort but couldn't remember what time I took the pill. I was also starving, so Mr Moth heated up the lasagna I had made the night before.
Lasagna is not health food, and too many carbs, but I figured it would be special enough to make me eat even if I was in pain, and soft. I think I would have eaten dog poo in a pudding cup though, because I was starving. Did I mention I was starving? Afterwards I took another pill. Mr Moth went to bed because he's on twelves this week (happy holidays) and Zor and I watched the rest of season two of Orange is the New Black. By then I had no pain, but I took another pill to insure a night of oblivion, and went to bed.
Somebody rang the bell and woke me up around 10:30. I remember how happy I was when Mr Moth fixed that damn bell, ha.
Today is Zor's birthday. I need to make her some brownies, and am debating if I need painkillers or should attempt it sober. Gonna give those advil a chance first.
So after more than five, less than ten years I went to the dentist and one thing, another thing, yesterday I also went to the oral surgeon to have a long-time broken tooth extracted. I had quite a bit of anxiety about it; I actually broke it not long after my last trip to the same surgeon, and broke it while eating a piece of white bread of all things. It was sharp at first, but then it wasn't. I kept telling myself, I'll go when it hurts, but it never did.
I went back to the same surgeon as last time. On that occasion he took out my belatedly erupted lower right wisdom tooth, and the molar next to it which had split in half during the collision. I didn't have any pain during the yanking, except I have this thing where my teeth are crap but my roots are amazing. To look at my face you wouldn't think there would be room for that much root in my jaw; even looking at the x-rays it seems unlikely. And so it is that removal involves a lot of physical yanking, and the pain of the empty space is later equalled or surpassed by the pain in my jaw, neck, head, and shoulder.
However I decided that the pain of an extraction would probably be the same whether or not I waited until after suffering weeks of infection-pain, so when the regular dentist said that tooth has to go, I said yes, ma'am. Also, it had risen in its socket over the years, and kept any of my other teeth from meeting properly, so...goodbye. I scheduled with the same surgeon, who I'd forgotten was rather brusque and un-sweet, but that's ok because he's good. Also strong. Also...I have trust.
The last time I went, I had first gone to a regular dentist that time also, as you do. The regular guy did xrays and discovered a lower left wisdom tooth, completely unerupted, lying on its side like a vampire in its coffin inside my jaw. You can have that taken out or not, he said. You really don't have to, unless something goes wrong with it, and you can watch it with regular xrays.
The procedure would have involved having my jaw sawed on, so I said no thank you. But when I arrived at the oral surgeon (whose name is Maxwell) he thought he was taking out that tooth. I would have had unwanted massive surgery because the first dentist is an idiot. But I didn't, because Maxwell is careful. I'll take care-ful over care-bear any day. Also he's good. He got my broken tooth out in about ten seconds, literally, with no cutting and no stitches. I felt the first part go and thought, "Ow, I should probably--" and then the second piece came out and he said, "All done." If I had been able to finish the first thought, it would have said, "I should probably let him know I felt that."
The main thing I did remember from the previous visit was the super-luxe blankie in the recovery room. And--it was still there, or one just like it. I happen to know it was a Martha Stewart blanket from her pre-prison days at K-Mart. I know this because my brother-in-law gave us one for Christmas one year. We wore ours out, but Maxwell still had his. So he's not a care bear, but.
He also listens. He asked if I wanted anything for pain and I said, no I'd take Advil. He said, are you sure, because you don't have to fill it. I said, I don't do Vicodin. He said, How about Tylenol 3. And I said ok, because that shit works for me and I've never had any trouble giving it up. And it doesn't cause me rage. Vicodin turns me into a monster. I've noticed it does this to other people also, but they don't ever seem to believe me.
Mr Moth believes me. He was there when the first dentist prescribed V and after the third dose I turned into Charlie Manson's evil twin.
Oh, Maxwell? gave me his personal cell phone number in case I have any trouble over the holiday. Is that not amazing?
So I drove myself to Revco, now known as CVS, but screw it, filled that script, picked up $80 worth of others as well, and went home to the sofa nest I had built myself before leaving, where I chewed gauze and watched Last Man Standing on Netflix until the numb started wearing off, whereupon I took a codeine tablet and a nap. When I woke up hours later, Zor was up and Mr Moth was home, and I was in moderate discomfort but couldn't remember what time I took the pill. I was also starving, so Mr Moth heated up the lasagna I had made the night before.
Lasagna is not health food, and too many carbs, but I figured it would be special enough to make me eat even if I was in pain, and soft. I think I would have eaten dog poo in a pudding cup though, because I was starving. Did I mention I was starving? Afterwards I took another pill. Mr Moth went to bed because he's on twelves this week (happy holidays) and Zor and I watched the rest of season two of Orange is the New Black. By then I had no pain, but I took another pill to insure a night of oblivion, and went to bed.
Somebody rang the bell and woke me up around 10:30. I remember how happy I was when Mr Moth fixed that damn bell, ha.
Today is Zor's birthday. I need to make her some brownies, and am debating if I need painkillers or should attempt it sober. Gonna give those advil a chance first.