First followup this afternoon on the first round of the dental surgery nightmare.
Since I don't think I actually posted about this when it happened, here goes nothing:
They're doing this in two stages: top first, it heals and is done, then they start on the bottom. Healing == 3-9 months. FML.
Most places offer to knock you out for this shit -- or offer gas or twilight sleep. NOPE. Not on offer. I got to be awake throughout. FML.
Since everything was numb to the point of 'do I have a face? I am not sure if I have a face... ' I didn't feel anything, but that wasn't really the problem. There is the existential horror factor of 'they are ripping out every one of my top teeth', which is bad enough, but it takes a while, the noises are disquieting as fuckall, and in the case of implants, there is another step.
This step hit #2 on my personal body horror checklist, displacing the creepy IV drip that ran from my upper arm to just beside my heart in the hospital (I forget the name of the thing, but needless to say, someone playing mouse maze with an IV tube and my circulatory system gives me the skittering crawlies).
Because there's that moment you're wide awake and you realize that the friendly all-smiles person staring down at you is boring a drill that looks like it could strike oil straight up into your skull through your gums, and you realize: 'I came here on purpose.'
And it takes a fucking while, y'all.
It takes long enough for you to really sit there and ponder the life choices that brought you to that particular place and time and circumstance. While there's not a lot I could ever have done differently to change things -- bad genes, highly acidic body chemistry, years of not being able to keep food down due to stomach issues, braces ripping off enamel, the shitty work done by the clinic that was all we could afford -- I was already well into time travel scenarios involving a now-aged me yelling at my (then me-now-aged) parents in a Timecop jumpsuit about how slightly crooked teeth are not the end of the fucking world before handing little me a selection of winning lottery numbers before stage-whispering, "Get out!" like a ghost in a horror flick before diving back through the time portal by the time he was done drilling six mine shafts into my skull.
(I will reiterate, I was not gassed or otherwise high at the time. I'm more or less always like this.)
I'm sent off home to go rest, with 3 days worth of quite literally the weakest vicodin scrip available (less effective than two excedrin, this is not a joke). It does the job well enough to mostly just knock me the fuck out for the rest of the day.
Positives: despite over 30 injections, no nerve damage. This has happened before, and it fucking blows. (5 years later sensation is mostly back, but not perfect, and that shit sucks -- smiling like you've had a stroke leads to a lot of not smiling.)
The next day, I have to go to the other dentist so they can screw on the fake temporaries.
Shit they don't fucking tell you and you don't necessarily think to ask about:
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The temporaries do not have spaces between the teeth. (Finals won't, either.) I am a floss whore and hypersensitive to the feeling that something is stuck between my teeth. This is driving me super insane. Having only seen models before, and that being the kind of corner people cut in models, I had no clue this was coming and OMG, guys, nnngh.
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There is a brand new ridge behind the back of my teeth, where tooth met gumline. 'Broadcast English Theater Me' now has the craziest fucking lisp and this is not even the tiniest bit OK. There are some other issues here but they're more technical or gross so just augh. My tongue is grumpy with me like it's the last remaining old guard codger hanging on 'til retirement at a small town business that just got inundated by hipster millennials.
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"Don't eat anything you can't cut with a spoon until the permanent teeth are in place." Yep, that's 3-9 months from now. For maybe like, two weeks, before it starts all over again for the bottom ones. Time to become besties with the slow cooker and finally get around to ordering that foodi cooker thing, which has moved from 'would be nice to have' to 'a person cannot actually live on pudding, even if you can get little mini-flans now', and I don't always have 12 hours to wait for meat to fall apart in the old slow cooker.
I get bounced back and forth between the surgeon and the doc to get these things screwed on. The swelling is so bad the surgeon has to do it. The words 'lasering off excess gum tissue' are used in my presence -- which seriously would also hit the top 5 personal body horror list in a nanosecond -- but they thankfully do not have to do that. <wood knock goes here>
"Don't worry, the second and third day are the worst, then it gets much easier."
OK. I'll trust you, smiling man with the skull drill.
And maybe that would have been the case, but...
...one of the clinic's badly capped teeth cracked and fused with my jawbone. Unbeknownst to me, it ripped out a 1/4 square, jagged-as-fuck chunk of jawbone when it came out. That very unhappy part of my face has been spitting out bone fragments -- wait, that is not the way to put that.
That does not convey what's happening here.
Tiny, multi-pronged, spiky bone caltrops are tearing their way out of that space on a daily basis as part of the healing process.
This is actually predictable and not very unusual; I had a minor version of it years ago. While it sucked, it was two tiny slivers, not a tribble farm of calcium devil-nettles. It also hurts badly enough that I literally cannot think or sleep through it, and tears just randomly appear from out of nowhere at intervals. If I took enough Tylenol to even dim that shit, it would actually kill me.
Weird side note: I have the teeth. I figured this would be a strange request, but the doctor insisted that most people want to keep them and I am thinking, 'good gods, why?!' (In my case, I had veneers done on the top front six many moons ago, and they fanged the shit out of my canines for me, as this happened back in my LARP days. Yes, I am that tragic geek loser that wanted to save my fangs. If my sad pretend vampire ass had to have my fangs pulled, by gods, I was keeping 'em.) There cannot be that many vampire LARPers out there, people that still believe in the tooth fairy, or are afraid the biomedical waste trash witch will put a curse on them.
Looking at the horror show that was the remains of them is how I figured out why this was happening, because... holy shit.
Hopefully, he can do something to fix it today or schedule a short-wait time to do so. Ideally it won't be a huge extra cost, but it may mean some kind of bone graft. (Nnngh.)
Hopefully, something more useful for the pain factor won't be a nightmare to insist on, because it's necessary, and while I'm sure I will die in some spectacularly stupid way, I don't want it to be 'my oral surgeon is so scared about the opioid epidemic that I die from a Tylenol overdose'.
I even considered just making sure I sleep through much of any recovery period, but I grind my teeth in my sleep when something hurts, and that will fuck things up faster that a wrecking ball to the chin and ensure nothing ever heals properly. I also apparently have crazy bite pressure, who knew? We will not discuss the number of sleep mouth guards I've completely torn apart or how quickly.
It's been an adventure thus far, y'all. Folks were supportive and understanding about this here in a huge way, so I figured the update was worth doing. It's not as bad as it could be, but dang.