Squeamishly Brave

I'm feeling really brave today, and pretty squeamish too, which is taking quite a toll on my nerves and my one desire right now is to have a snooze. Unfortunately, it's only Friday and my next snooze-in opportunity isn't until tomorrow morning.

Why brave? Well, I have stopped wearing the plastic protection on my upper mouth which means the graft zone is open to being accidently touched by my tongue. I had the gum graft a week last Monday and have been faithfully wearing it at all times. However, I went to have the stitches out on Wednesday and my dentist told me I should only wear it at mealtimes, to speed up healing.

The squirm factor on this is pretty high, but had been off the chart until I took a mirror and actually had a look to see where the graft zone was. Luckily (and intentionally, I'm sure), it's over on the right hand side so my tongue goes nowhere near it when I swallow or when I talk. However, just to be on the safe side, I'm developing a new technique where I swallow with my tongue to the left and talk with as little tongue use as possible.

If successful, I'll write an article and publish my findings in Nature...

I was most apprehensive about having the stitches out. The last time I had mouth stitches out was when I was a student and trigger-happy dentist removed my wisdom teeth. He seemed to have a reputation for doing this whether really necessary or not. I suppose it was a good little earner... Anyway, he did it with general anaesthetic in the surgery (not sure if that's allowed now), and I went back some time later for the stitches. For some reason he didn't snip them with scissors, he cut them with a bistouri, but the damn blade wasn't sharp and he had to keep hacking away until he got through.

It was so painful I nearly fainted, literally. I've never actually fainted, but that was nearest I got, and I had to sit down, head between my knees, before I fell down.

So, with that memory of 25yrs ago fresh in my mind, I tottered my way to the dentist and expected the worst. Happily, my dentist does not believe in pain, so he took some VERY sharp scissors and snipped delicately until they were cut, and then gently pulled them out with some tweezers. He really is heroic.

I now have a new post-operative toothbrush that I use to caress the new gum gently (squirm squirm) and am well and truly on the mend.

I know it'll all end happily but, to be honest, I never ever ever want another gum graft for as long as I live and you can bet that I'll be keeping a very close eye on my gums from now on to stop them getting out of line...

I'm also rather tired of paying my dentist a luxurious lifestyle that I don't have myself.

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.