And Now, The End Is Near
It was a Fourth of July weekend. After consuming two Amaretto Sours I giggled about the tooth pain I was suddenly experiencing. Only that tooth pain didn't go away that night. It didn't even go away that month. In fact, if you could have told me that the "little" pain that I would have been experiencing that weekend would have gone off and on, well into November I don't think I would have been laughing so much. This is one prime reason it's good we can't see into the future.
At the risk of sounding redundant I already spoke about this problem here,
here and then again, here. Therefore I'll spare you the gory details, kinda sorta.
Now I'll bring us up to present day in the ongoing saga called "These Are The Pains of Our Lives". I scheduled the surgery and a second consultation and yes, in that order. When I went in for my second consol I had a completely different feeling than I did the first time. This surgeon was the owner of the practice and gave off a much more matter of fact, confident manner. He also reminded me of a character Martin Short could so play, but that's not important now, as long as it wasn't in fact, Martin Short that is.
Anyway "Martin" read the notes the other surgeon took and was not happy. I don't know if he was happy with what he read or what he didn't read. All I knew was that it was written all over his face. He looked at my teeth and he was the first person to acknowledge said tooth was inflammed. So he volunteered himself for the surgery, unless of course I wanted the other surgeon which, at that point was a resounding "Hell no!" though I held that part in. He seemed to also be very responsive to the news and the concern I had that I have TMJ and he said that they don't open your mouth as wide and that is good to know.
He also handed me a phamplet about the procedure and the practice that I didn't get the first time around. After looking at the pamphlet though I think I know why. Surgeon behnd door number 1 is not anywhere on the phamplet so either he's an intern or he's new. Regardless, this confirmed he isn't who I want taking my teeth out. Yes, I'm well aware everybody has to start somewhere. All I'm saying is he ain't starting here, gabesh?
So because I was changing surgeons I was lucky enough to also be able to change dates. At least I got the surgery moved up one day which gave me one extra day to recover as well. When Martin walked me out of the office he asked the secretaries to copy surgeon #1's notes on my case which to me translated into "Ooh, someone's in TRO-U-BLE!" He also did not charge me for the second visit and he told the secretaries to be sure to fit me in on the day I wanted even if he had to work through lunch. It's divilary like that, a term I just coined meaning "doctor chivalry" that proves a bedside manner ain't dead yet.
I left the office feeling much more confident than before. I knew this because I wasn't hysterically crying like the first time. Now all I had to do was wait another few weeks and it would all be over.
But then an Emeril like event happened in my tooth related woes and suddenly, everything was kicked up a notch.
Two weekends before the surgery I was in my normal routine. I had sensitivity to hot and cold. I would take on average, an Advil or two a day for the pain, mostly after I ate or times when I just woke up or was about to go to bed. But then one Friday night that pain went from bad to really bad and I couldn't figure out exactly why. I had a glass of wine and a salad and whatever it was obviously was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.
My one or two a day Advil self-prescrition had been upped to 2 every four hours...or else. The pain was excruciating and complicating matters, I could. no. longer. chew. most. foods. This was in part because I was in too much pain and in part because apparently my mouth decided to go on strike midway through this ordeal and refuse to open wide enough for the perfect bite, or any bite for that matter.
Before I knew it I was on a diet of soft foods and I hadn't even had the surgery yet. So I did what anybody in extreme pain would do. I called the office and asked the surgery be moved up. Only problem was the doctor was on vacation this week. So then I opted for the next best thing; I said that I think I might have been in the need of an antibiotic because I'm afraid I had an infection there. I was also afraid if the infection wasn't taken care of he wouldn't be taking them out at all. So they prescribed amoxicyllin.
And let me just tell you it's the best five dollars I ever spent.
Literally I feel like Carly Simon. Overnight it seems, I haven't got time for the pain anymore. In its place is instead a weird, almost suction sensation which quietly reminds me that I've won the battle, not the war.
All that's left of concern to me is once again, the process itself. The pain is being kept at bay, but I am still having a hard time opening my jaw as big as I could before which might I remind you, wasn't even all that big to begin with. So the thought of someone prying my jaw open, even while I'm sleeping, and then snapping it back in place doesn't exactly make for sweet dreams. Consider this whole process the levels of alert for Janet's teeth. At the beginning of all of this I was on Elevated or Yellow. Then I jumped to High or Orange. Then I spent some time in Severe or Red. Now I'm back at Guarded or Blue.
And with that being said, I'm off to the surgeon tomorrow. I plan to post recaps for the 5 of you who got through this post and amazingly still care. Oh and if for some reason you don't hear from me in awhile, you'll know why!
At the risk of sounding redundant I already spoke about this problem here,
here and then again, here. Therefore I'll spare you the gory details, kinda sorta.
Now I'll bring us up to present day in the ongoing saga called "These Are The Pains of Our Lives". I scheduled the surgery and a second consultation and yes, in that order. When I went in for my second consol I had a completely different feeling than I did the first time. This surgeon was the owner of the practice and gave off a much more matter of fact, confident manner. He also reminded me of a character Martin Short could so play, but that's not important now, as long as it wasn't in fact, Martin Short that is.
Anyway "Martin" read the notes the other surgeon took and was not happy. I don't know if he was happy with what he read or what he didn't read. All I knew was that it was written all over his face. He looked at my teeth and he was the first person to acknowledge said tooth was inflammed. So he volunteered himself for the surgery, unless of course I wanted the other surgeon which, at that point was a resounding "Hell no!" though I held that part in. He seemed to also be very responsive to the news and the concern I had that I have TMJ and he said that they don't open your mouth as wide and that is good to know.
He also handed me a phamplet about the procedure and the practice that I didn't get the first time around. After looking at the pamphlet though I think I know why. Surgeon behnd door number 1 is not anywhere on the phamplet so either he's an intern or he's new. Regardless, this confirmed he isn't who I want taking my teeth out. Yes, I'm well aware everybody has to start somewhere. All I'm saying is he ain't starting here, gabesh?
So because I was changing surgeons I was lucky enough to also be able to change dates. At least I got the surgery moved up one day which gave me one extra day to recover as well. When Martin walked me out of the office he asked the secretaries to copy surgeon #1's notes on my case which to me translated into "Ooh, someone's in TRO-U-BLE!" He also did not charge me for the second visit and he told the secretaries to be sure to fit me in on the day I wanted even if he had to work through lunch. It's divilary like that, a term I just coined meaning "doctor chivalry" that proves a bedside manner ain't dead yet.
I left the office feeling much more confident than before. I knew this because I wasn't hysterically crying like the first time. Now all I had to do was wait another few weeks and it would all be over.
But then an Emeril like event happened in my tooth related woes and suddenly, everything was kicked up a notch.
Two weekends before the surgery I was in my normal routine. I had sensitivity to hot and cold. I would take on average, an Advil or two a day for the pain, mostly after I ate or times when I just woke up or was about to go to bed. But then one Friday night that pain went from bad to really bad and I couldn't figure out exactly why. I had a glass of wine and a salad and whatever it was obviously was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.
My one or two a day Advil self-prescrition had been upped to 2 every four hours...or else. The pain was excruciating and complicating matters, I could. no. longer. chew. most. foods. This was in part because I was in too much pain and in part because apparently my mouth decided to go on strike midway through this ordeal and refuse to open wide enough for the perfect bite, or any bite for that matter.
Before I knew it I was on a diet of soft foods and I hadn't even had the surgery yet. So I did what anybody in extreme pain would do. I called the office and asked the surgery be moved up. Only problem was the doctor was on vacation this week. So then I opted for the next best thing; I said that I think I might have been in the need of an antibiotic because I'm afraid I had an infection there. I was also afraid if the infection wasn't taken care of he wouldn't be taking them out at all. So they prescribed amoxicyllin.
And let me just tell you it's the best five dollars I ever spent.
Literally I feel like Carly Simon. Overnight it seems, I haven't got time for the pain anymore. In its place is instead a weird, almost suction sensation which quietly reminds me that I've won the battle, not the war.
All that's left of concern to me is once again, the process itself. The pain is being kept at bay, but I am still having a hard time opening my jaw as big as I could before which might I remind you, wasn't even all that big to begin with. So the thought of someone prying my jaw open, even while I'm sleeping, and then snapping it back in place doesn't exactly make for sweet dreams. Consider this whole process the levels of alert for Janet's teeth. At the beginning of all of this I was on Elevated or Yellow. Then I jumped to High or Orange. Then I spent some time in Severe or Red. Now I'm back at Guarded or Blue.
And with that being said, I'm off to the surgeon tomorrow. I plan to post recaps for the 5 of you who got through this post and amazingly still care. Oh and if for some reason you don't hear from me in awhile, you'll know why!
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