Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Buccal War Zone

My poor mouth is a war zone, and I'm feeling pretty sorry for myself, although one benefit is not having to go to work.

Yesterday I had to have a gum graft onto an ailing crown which will also be replaced. The only reason why I accepted the very concept is because my dentist is dedicated to pain relief. Previous procedures, while hardly a barrel of laughs, were, at least, pain free.

He did warn me that it would be uncomfortable though, and gave a quick run through of what he would do. He didn't need to do more, my imagination set to work filling in the details with blood and gore. I was not feeling terribly brave about it beforehand.

For my last meal on Sunday, I cooked double quantities of loup de mer just in case I wouldn't be up to feeding the boys after my operation. Good thing too, I was not en forme last night.

I arrived with much trepidation and almost passed out just after the anaesthetic! Then I had to walk upstairs to the operating theatre. My sweet dentist had finally got around, he told me, to putting some music on the iPod, and so some calming music was wafting out over the speakers. I was dead chuffed because it gave me something to listen to other than nasty dentistry noises, and something to concentrate on other than the unpleasantness that was going on in my mouth.

In fact I decided to ignore the whole thing and just wait for it to go away. My dentist asked me if I wanted him to tell me what he was going to do, and I said no because ignorance is bliss and what good would it do me other than firing my already over-active imagination? Plus, if I was ignoring it, I could hardly do this properly knowing what he was doing, could I? My stance taken, I had to see it right through.

So he did what he had to do, and I sat there listening to music and not wondering at all what was going on. It was pain free, as promised, so no need to flinch or have an anxiety attack at the thought of pain.

At the end of it, he advised me not to look for at least half an hour (it took me most of the day) and to go home and sit with an ice pack on my chin for the rest of the day to stop swelling. That's a lot of ice! So I did, armed to the teeth (as it were) with pain killers, anti-inflammatories, and anti-biotics.

Then I sat in front of the tele, ignoring the computer, books and all other potential forms of entertainment. My ice pack and me watched everything from 'Murder she wrote' to 'The World at War - Burma 1942-45', 'Morse', 'PlV', 'Escape to the Country' and bits of 'Ready Steady Cook'. At that point, my eldest returned home and turned the XBox on so I got to watch him racing sports cars around Hawaii.

When it came to dinner, I was glad the fish was ready, but I couldn't eat it, so did myself some soggy scrambled eggs. It's not easy to eat with a plastic graft guard over the top of my mouth including teeth. I gave up actually after one egg's worth. I can see I'm going to lose weight as it's simply too much hassle eating. Today, I've got some chicken stock out of the freezer to turn into soup.

My poor war zone mouth has stitches inside and an impressive bruise outside. In fact I'm going to have to explain when I see people that I'm a victim of dentistry, not domestic violence! Yesterday I wasn't allowed to talk (which inspired a cheeky remark from my TWDB) or laugh so that the stitches wouldn't come under pressure. Makes me feel queasy just thinking about it... (I'm not good with pain or stitches or bodily issues - would have made a crap nurse and even crappier doctor!)

My only consolation really is that had I not had it done, it would have had to be done later anyway, but much worse and much more expensive. Ageing's a bitch.


  1. It all sounds horrific - I was feeling quite faint! Isn't it odd that we have this horror of dentists - my dentist is wonderful, I have had major work done and never felt a thing, but when I go in I feel faint, my hands are all sweaty and I sit in the chair with every muscle in my body clenched ...

  2. Your are my brave little chewub!

    Lovely too the "stories of beforehand" under your article.

  3. Self-imposed torture, going to the dentist is. Even if it doesn't hurt, it's still nasty, with nasty noises and unpleasant things done.


  4. You wanna try having a dental implant. They hammer up through your sinus. "C'est impressionant," warned my dentist. Impressionant didn't being to cover it. And as he banged away with what looked like a solid metal mouth mallet, the CD player filled the room with the soothing sounds of Miles Davis' Ascenceur Pour l'Echaffaud. Imagine my mood.


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