It began a week ago while I was drinking a great big Coke from Subway. I only have one once or twice a month, but I'm glad I did. The sugar created a sensation that indicated what was the beginning of the end of a tooth. I cleaned, swished, and took it easy on that area for days; but 3 days ago, there was no denying that something bigger than hygiene was amiss. Between the mystery of the calves' lameness, vehicle repairs, and other appointments; I just self medicated and "sucked" it up. Besides, I don't have insurance. I've actually not needed any in almost 4 years and wouldn't have purchased dental insurance anyway because of its high cost.
Several of you know that I'm under the supervision of a resident student at The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. We have a plan of treatment for my severe Gingivitis. I'm told it began many years back when under the stress of pregnancies, moves, and in a span of 4 years not receiving regular cleanings. Once it starts, it doesn't matter how consistent you are with cleaning if the underlying problem isn't resolved. As an adult, the few cavities I've had all (but one due to my bite) stemmed from gum deficiencies. I haven't had one that I knew of in 6 or 7 years. This is getting a little boring, I'm sure, but if one person can understand the intricacies of the disease before it's too late for them, I'll be satisfied.
So, I had a lull of about 18 hours the day before last and thought my problem was subsiding. In retrospect, it was probably an accumulation of all the ibuprofen I'd taken ...because that evening the pain returned but with a vengeance, set off again by sugar ...but even the x-rays from July hadn't shown a cavity. It was so bad that the shooting pain was referring to my lower jaw all the way to my front teeth. I took more 800 mg ibuprofen, then Hydrocodone, then Tylenol #3s, then Benadryl (praying it would make me sleep since NOTHING even touched the agony) ...until I got down the mason jar of shine (which is more likely Everclear with cider). I had been crying so much that my "sipping" nature went away and I drank it until I guess I passed out, around 4 am. Why didn't I go to the ER? What ...and pay a fee with no real solution? Not my style; I'd set the clock for the opening hours of the clinic. When I got them on the line, they were less than agreeable about getting me into their ER program. They sent me to my "resident's" line. I got his voicemail and was told he was in class. I was desperate, calling back and sobbing like a baby, pleading really, for them to do something, anything.
Within 30 minutes, my call was returned and the "come on in" reply was honey to my ears. Miranda got ready to drive me because there was no way I was giving up the relief I'd found in the liquor. She's 17 and hasn't driven a lot in heavy traffic, much less in a downpour, but she persevered. I was in and out of consciousness, not sure if it was drowsiness or drunkenness ...and I really didn't care. We finally arrived after 2 and a half hours. They got me right in. I knew he wasn't scheduling procedures that day, so I thanked him profusely. They went straight into sensitivity testing to determine the problem tooth by "knocking" on them, putting liquid ice to them, and probing them. There really wasn't a decisive tooth, which I was afraid made me look like an over reactor. Since they don't know me well, it wouldn't mean much to tell them that I'm not a "crier"; so I told them I'd had a pint of Everclear. His eyes widened with surprise and a twinge of humor.
X-rays followed and the tooth that was killing me showed no indications of damage. They brought in the overseeing doctor for consult and extraction was mentioned right off the bat. I almost starting crying at the thought because the tooth presenting pain was third from the back and its absence would definitely be noticed in a smile. Then, I felt really guitly at such vanity; afterall, it's only a tooth, not a limb. They decided to start the scaling that was planned for next month and see if they could uncover something. And uncover they did. While cleaning my top left, last molar, their tools found a cavity about one third of an inch above the gumline. It was that big in circumference and approaching that in depth. It had been there so long that it'd finally reached the nerve.
He said, "We have your culprit." I was thoroughly glad to be legitimized and overjoyed that it was so far back in my mouth. My mood swung again, though, when they came back in the room from another conference with the final suggestion to pull it out. I loaded them with questions. "Why not a root canal?" They replied that there was such significant bone loss in the root of the tooth from the gingivitis that it was loose and would be useless before long anyway. Bone grafting was one alternative but would involve thousands of dollars. It didn't take me long to give the go ahead to just get it over with.
I've written "they" several times and by that I mean that "my" resident is graduating in May, so he's brought in a female resident to take over my care. She was the one to do the deed and I didn't hesitate to ask her how many teeth she'd pulled. He leaned over close and said, "She's the queen of tooth pulling." She said she'd explain during the procedure. As they reassured me that all the tugging and cracking was customary, she told me of her mission trip to Madagascar in June and the lines of people needing care. She said she'd extracted 300 teeth and was only outdone there by her husband. Suddenly my one tooth seemed so unimportant. There they were, a couple, living outloud: giving help to the helpless. Now, I know that I'm in good hands over these next months.
The procedure was painless. We're only out $85, some gas money, and $25 for prescriptions. I haven't needed a prescription since I was pregnant with Madalynn. I'm hoping the amoxicillin will help my skin a little, too. I won't wish for too much though. I know from experience that a sore mouth is no guarantee for weight loss. I had an expander, the metal devise in the pallet that expands it with the daily turn of a "key", when I had braces (again) as an adult. I thought my limited menu would be a surefire shedding of pounds. NOT! An eater will always find a way ;) So, I'm sitting here now after my cool cup of coffee in no pain whatsoever, WITHOUT the prescibed painkillers. Thank God for technology.
Two things I take from this experience are the insight I get about a person who is suffering and turns to alcohol for the numbness it produces and the thankfulness that goes unexpressed to "professionals". I'm glad I don't have an alcohol dependence and it's easy to judge someone who does for the "selfishness" of addiction. The only way to help them though is to dive into the cause, instead of shunning them ...unless it becomes the last straw. Secondly, the appreciation factor shouldn't end with a handshake. I used to be really into thank you notes but as much for etiquette as anything. I've slacked off but this week I'll make it a point to thank the "people" who took excellent and sympathetic care of me. Nevermind that they get practice from or credit for it. They fit me into their schedules, heard me out, searched for an unseen problem, shared their own stories with me, and even specially prescribed pills I could swallow instead of crush. I hope a note will mean to them what they did for me means. When is the last time you sent an unexpected handwritten thanks to someone? It doesn't have to be beautiful, clever, or even store bought; it just needs to be done and sent.
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