What a week it’s been — and it’s only Thursday . . .

MONDAY:  awake at 4:30 so I could gulp down my two cups of coffee before hitting the road at 5:30 to be where I need to be by 6:30.  Where, you ask?  The place where I would have my remaining ten teeth pulled, be fitted for dentures, and walk away with dentures in mouth by that afternoon.

OK, so I was misled — was told to be there at 6:30 to beat the crowd.  Hah!  Not only did I NOT beat the crowd (there were fifteen people there first), getting there early was a waste of time.  Seems that when folks register at 7:15am, they’re not necessarily seen in the order they arrive, but rather according to what they need done.  Drat.  Coulda slept another hour.

I’m called into the exam room at 9am, xray taken, impressions made, sent off at 9:30 after being told to return at 2pm.  Drat.  Four hours to kill, forgot to bring a book, too hot to take a nap in my car.  I spent the four hours touring Winchester VA, getting horribly lost, losing all sense of direction, getting some chicken for lunch that must’ve been leftovers, all dry and stringy.  Drat.  Possibly my last real meal for awhile, and I throw most of it away.

2pm, I report back, get so shot up with novacaine that my head’s swimming in it.  Dentist deftly removes teeth in record time (I hear them being placed in a cup: plink . . . plink . . . ten times).  I might shoulda kept them and made a necklace.   Dentures are fitted, and of course since even my eyelids were numb all the way to my chin hairs, I had no idea how comfortable they were (or not).  Get my instructions, am given a prescription for pain meds.  Drat.  Pain is involved.

I make my way to a pharmacy, get the meds, take a pill just because something might start hurting, and travel the 45-mile ride to home.  Mouth is seeping blood, I can taste it.  I look in the mirror.  No, I’m not pale as a ghost, I apparently have plenty of blood left.

At home I look in the mirror.  Am horrified to see my skewed smile — one side of my face is still very numb.  Teeth look good, though.  I wonder what they feel like.  I’m too wound up to hop into bed as planned, so I play on the computer, read my instructions.  Oh, geez . . .

I’m told to leave these dentures in the first night; otherwise my gums will swell up and I won’t be able to put them in tomorrow.  Criminy, that would be horrid.  I’d kinda like to take them out because I’m still bleeding and the instructions say to bite on gauze if that happens.  But heck, I can’t chance taking them out NOW!  Not even for five seconds, that’s probably all the time my gums would need to puff up.  I’m sure I still have plenty of blood.

By dinnertime my mouth is definitely hurting, the pain meds are fairly worthless.  I have ice cream for dinner.  Hey, comfort food is comfort food.  Eventually I fall asleep, pain and all, with my new beautiful teeth still in my mouth.

TUESDAY:  OK.  Pain is very persistent.  The bleeding finally stopped.  I’m taking the pain meds whether they work or not, in hopes that eventually there’ll be enough in my system to have an effect.  I gotta eat, however, to keep my strength up, right?  My normal breakfast is a peanut butter and margarine sandwich.  Well, that sounds like soft food, so I’ll go with it.  Drat.  Lower dentures swim around in my mouth.  There are a few spots that hurt like hell.  Damn that medicine.  I finally down the sandwich, mashing it between my tongue and palate.  Hope my stomach acids do their thing to the not-chewed sandwich.

I’m miserable all day, can’t go to work feeling like this, the oppressive heat is killing my gardens I’m sure, and guess who doesn’t much care right now.  While speaking with someone my upper denture pops down.  Drat.

Lunch is ice cream.

Dinner is pasta and spinach.  Same deal as with sandwich.  Instead of chomp, chomp, it’s mash, mash.

OK, time to remove these babies so I can dutifully rinse with warm salt water.  Ah, feels good to have them out and have my gums all to myself.  But then I gotta put them back in.  Oh, the pain.  Oh, the swearing.  Someone please save me from this.  I want my old miserable teeth back.  Damn the pain meds that are useless.  I make a rash decision to never do this again.

WEDNESDAY:  Wake up feeling positive, thinking surely things will feel better today.  I get to work really early and begin watering before the sun clears the hill to my east.  Boss sees me and says “you must be feeling better.”  I then realize I still feel like crap.  By noon it’s 95 outside and I retreat to indoors and lunchtime — last night’s leftovers.  I’m getting the hang of eating with useless teeth.  Pain still intense in a few spots.

Then it dawns on me:  the pain is due to some “hot spots” where the dentures are rubbing or pressing too hard in a few areas.  Hah!  And the solution is . . .

THURSDAY:  with a burst of  positivity, I jump in my car and head to the denture place to have adjustments made.  Within 30 minutes the dentures are modified, no more pressure, no more pain and I’m downright giddy with relief.  I drive home grinning like the Cheshire Cat only with twice as many teeth.  Oh, did I forget to mention that?  I’ve NEVER had so many teeth in my mouth as I do now.  Those lab guys went ‘way overboard.

Maybe, just maybe, when all is said and done and I’ve taught my new teeth to stay put and I’ve taught myself how to eat differently and how to talk without dislodging them, I’ll say this was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.  I’m all for happy fairytale endings.

But I can’t help wondering what’ll be going on next week . . .  meantime, I have to go to the grocery and find the Soft Food Aisle

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Tags: dentures, humor, pain

Categories: Random Thoughts