Well, that was fairly icky
I'm getting partials made. I lost some teeth in the military ... well, okay, I lost the entirety of my lower left side of teeth ... and I've finally decided to get a partial denture.
Why now? Well, I have awesome dental insurance now, between my retired military and federal insurance, and can get everything I need for only like a hundred bucks out-of-pocket, which was a big part of the decision. Also, I've gotten tired of chewing everything on the right side. Plus, there's the entire cosmetic thing, y'know? Now that I'm getting older, it's kinda uncool to be missing ... obviously missing, that is ... teeth.
However, I ran into a small snag. The same event that cost me the teeth on that side, also left me with a little odd damage elsewhere in my mouth. Specifically, I developed a sort of bony growth a couple of centimeters lower than the teeth. A sort of projection, like a small sidewise hillock, that projected three or four centimeters into my mouth.
Right where, as it turned out, the partial denture was going to sit.
My dentist told me that I needed a little oral surgery to rid myself of my oral abutment before he could make the partial. Oh, he could make it without it being removed, he explained, but the partial would rub the silly thing raw within a day or two and make wearing it bloody torment.
So I located an oral surgeon who excepted both of my dental insurance plans and made two appointments, the first was so he could look over the situation and make sure that he could do what I needed done, and the second one so he could whip out the old Dremel and grind the silly thing flat.
Which was exactly what he said he would do. He said he would cut a flap of skin away, so he could uncover the bone wart, and then he'd simply grind it down flat and stitch the flap back into place. Easy, peasy.
So I showed up on time, got numbed up, and he broke out the scalpel. He slice the flap open, pulled it down (sort of flaying the tissue off of the bone as he went), and gave out a surprised gasp.
Then he traded his dremel for a pair of surgical pilers, grabbed hold of the bony protrusion, and pulled it out. It was bone, but not mine. Or, if it was mine, it was from somewhere other than where he pulled it out of. He then packed the resulting divot with something and sewed the flap down. Afterward, mumbling around the numbness, I tried to explain how I lost the teeth (butt of a gun; the blow landed, but the following bullet missed because I'd stuck my pistol up under his chin while he was pistol-whipping me and pulled the trigger a hair before he did), but neither of us could figure where the shard came from.
At any rate, now I'm sitting here with stitches in my gum tissue, doing my level best to keep my tongue from playing with them because doing so makes them ache something fierce! In a couple of weeks, my dentist will start the entire "making molds" bit and I should be walking around with plastic choppers by summer.
Provided I don't yank my damn gums out before then, that is.
Why now? Well, I have awesome dental insurance now, between my retired military and federal insurance, and can get everything I need for only like a hundred bucks out-of-pocket, which was a big part of the decision. Also, I've gotten tired of chewing everything on the right side. Plus, there's the entire cosmetic thing, y'know? Now that I'm getting older, it's kinda uncool to be missing ... obviously missing, that is ... teeth.
However, I ran into a small snag. The same event that cost me the teeth on that side, also left me with a little odd damage elsewhere in my mouth. Specifically, I developed a sort of bony growth a couple of centimeters lower than the teeth. A sort of projection, like a small sidewise hillock, that projected three or four centimeters into my mouth.
Right where, as it turned out, the partial denture was going to sit.
My dentist told me that I needed a little oral surgery to rid myself of my oral abutment before he could make the partial. Oh, he could make it without it being removed, he explained, but the partial would rub the silly thing raw within a day or two and make wearing it bloody torment.
So I located an oral surgeon who excepted both of my dental insurance plans and made two appointments, the first was so he could look over the situation and make sure that he could do what I needed done, and the second one so he could whip out the old Dremel and grind the silly thing flat.
Which was exactly what he said he would do. He said he would cut a flap of skin away, so he could uncover the bone wart, and then he'd simply grind it down flat and stitch the flap back into place. Easy, peasy.
So I showed up on time, got numbed up, and he broke out the scalpel. He slice the flap open, pulled it down (sort of flaying the tissue off of the bone as he went), and gave out a surprised gasp.
Then he traded his dremel for a pair of surgical pilers, grabbed hold of the bony protrusion, and pulled it out. It was bone, but not mine. Or, if it was mine, it was from somewhere other than where he pulled it out of. He then packed the resulting divot with something and sewed the flap down. Afterward, mumbling around the numbness, I tried to explain how I lost the teeth (butt of a gun; the blow landed, but the following bullet missed because I'd stuck my pistol up under his chin while he was pistol-whipping me and pulled the trigger a hair before he did), but neither of us could figure where the shard came from.
At any rate, now I'm sitting here with stitches in my gum tissue, doing my level best to keep my tongue from playing with them because doing so makes them ache something fierce! In a couple of weeks, my dentist will start the entire "making molds" bit and I should be walking around with plastic choppers by summer.
Provided I don't yank my damn gums out before then, that is.