My so-called journal

Well, I got a few sockets implanted in my mouth today, so I'm eventually going to shed this "hillbilly" look. NYU Dental has moved me through a few different students, and they've all graduated in turn. This whole dental nightmare has taken a few years, starting when I was a patient at Columbia Dental, which is where I first had a molar decay under the crown, having to be extracted. (The student working on me was oddly oblivious, and I saw I had to leave.)

(Note: Every chair at NYU Dental faces a notice expressly prohibiting selfies, so I'm kind of glad I got in under the wire.)

I've finally gotten to get rid of the "flipper" I was wearing for the past few years, which gave me a lisp and made it difficult to talk. Now that the anesthesia has worn off, I feel legitimately sore in the mouth, but I'm happy to be making progress at last.

And about a week ago was a 9/11 survivors' forum in which they announced there's now a $10 billion fund to cover the health care of the remaining 9/11 survivors. I qualify, since I was in the toxicity zone below Canal Street immediately after the explosion. The whole city smelled like an electrical fire; you couldn't get away from it. When I went up to upper Manhattan, it still smelled toxic.



I'm gearing up for Inktober, but I'm too tired to post anything right now.

Got my first implant at NYU Dental yesterday; that is, they implanted the socket the crown will rest on. They also did the necessary bone graft and sinus lift; the placement of my maxillofacial sinus had been the reason I was first given that I wasn't a candidate for the surgery.

There was some pain yesterday (expected) but nothing I even needed the prescribed ibuprofen for—I explained I have issues with taking ibuprofen, but agreed aspirin wouldn't be a good idea to take instead, as it is a blood thinner. There's also, naturally, some swelling, so I'm happy to use the freezer packs of beads. I also have the tails of sutures on the roof of my mouth as a reminder; these are the dissolving type of sutures, naturally.

I actually was expecting to only be able to eat soup and yogurt, so I'm pleased to have had a scone for breakfast. Still, if I could go back in time for any reason, the most compelling one would be to teach 7-year-old me to floss every day.

Today was a doozy…the main thing that happened was I got a molly bolt punched into my jaw—the first of five. I've actually been waiting for several years to get this done, so I'm pretty happy to be starting on it finally. I'm getting it done at the slow-moving NYU College of Dentistry; the tooth I'm currently having replaced is/was a molar, the first tooth I lost to a student's negligence up at Columbia College of Dentistry.

(I actually keep my teeth very clean, and have for at least 20 years; every dentist I've seen since I was living back in Connecticut with my parents has remarked on how clean they are—until they look closer.)

The others appear to have been teeth that had been root-canaled and the actual tooth rotted out under the porcelain crown. This has happened an embarrassing number of times, and is the reason I originally only needed one tooth replaced in this way, but now need these five, plus my lower incisors, which apparently are hanging on by a thread—although I wasn't aware of that and can still bite into things.

My ex had been very gung-ho on the idea of my investigating dental tourism, especially to Mexico. I got cold feet about that one because the last time I flew was in 1979. And the only Español I speak is Las cucarachas entran, pero no pueden salir. I've never traveled alone, and certainly not to a foreign country–last I looked, Mexico was a foreign country. (To anyone who asks, "Can't you travel with a friend?" Uh, nope. No friends–I'm not too happy about that either.)

So this is enough of an adventure for now; the anesthesia is finally wearing off–the dentist today asked me, "Do you want another shot?" and I really didn't, but I fortunately didn't feel anything.

[Note: There apparently has been a rash of selfie-taking in dentist chairs, enough so that at NYU Dental there are signs posted opposite every patient chair stating that there are to be NO SELFIES in the dentist chair. Private dentists will allow it, of course. So I took my selfie—in my icon—before it was A Thing.]

Well, I cracked a molar over the weekend; it was a wisdom tooth, and I made an emergency appointment at my dental clinic. The dentist said it would have to be root-canaled, and I figured that for a wisdom tooth, it might as well be extracted. "It isn't a necessary tooth, is it?" I asked.

"Well, no," said the dentist.

"It won't affect my bite, will it?" I asked.

"No."

"Well, pull it out, then," I said.

"You're not in any pain, so you can sleep on it," she said.

Having just spent a few months of evening appointments, and nearly $2000 on my root canal a few months ago, I wasn't eager to repeat the experience. "No really; that's my final answer," I said. "Pull it out."

( This is gross, so don't feel you have to look--it's my bloody tooth. )

I had Phase I of my root-canal the other evening; as expected, it didn't hurt. I knew it wouldn't, and the dentist said, brandishing a large needle, "Even though the tooth is dead, I'm going to numb the area." I nodded.

I chose not to look while she took out various grinding and reaming tools; the sound was more intense than just being drilled for a regular filling. The anaesthetic began to wear off before she was done, but that was okay; I certainly wouldn't have wanted to be more numb, considering that my upper lip felt like a slab of rubber for a few hours after anyway.

So I have a temporary cap on it and have to go back next Wednesday for more fun. They also scheduled me to continue with my ongoing treatment—like twelve sessions and a few thousand dollars; I had dropped the ball and canceled an appointment last summer, which is why I ended up with this runaway decay in the first place. Live and learn; at least I get to keep my teeth for now.