All these years. I had a good reason to not want to go back to the dentist, even though I didn't know the real reason.
After the x-rays and initial examination, the dentist brought in this nifty tray that looked something like one of those whitening trays except metal, and a lot more ominous. He filled it with a pink putty that tasted faintly of mint but had the texture of overcooked pudding, and made a mold of my mouth.
Some of you are realizing where this is going.
I know now (because I was drugged to within an inch of unconsciousness at the time) that during the examination he discovered that somehow, I managed to get nerve damage in the top of my mouth. He couldn't tell exactly where or what caused it at this point, but he's betting on one of those inept dentists that I've been to before.
The result of this nerve damage was that my teeth were dead. Improper nerve function basically made my body think they weren't there from the gum out, so my body did nothing to maintain them. According to the x-rays the roots were still good, which he told mom (me druggy, remember?) was a really good thing, since from the looks of it the damage had spread, and could possibly have spread into my jaw.
So, when I went back Thursday, on the happy pills again, he sat me in the chair and I firmly believe performed a miracle with a needle, because I actually got numb right away.
He then proceeded, with his son, to pull all fifteen of my upper teeth. They're gone, poof, no more.
I've spent the last three days pretty much constantly knocked out on vicodin, swallowing blood, and trying to eat when I'm not out cold.
Oh, and trying to learn to deal with a big chunk of basically the same stuff they use for fake fingernails in the top of my mouth.
Given what the doc said, I'm glad I did it. I hate this, but I would have hated bone grafts on my jaw worse.
I'm still pretty druggy right now, although I cut back to half a vicodin this morning and that's starting to wear off. It's really frustrating to not be able to eat anything that isn't pretty much mush, and on top of that I'm still swallowing a little blood. I'm spitting as much of it as I can out but I haven't really figured out all the nuances to spitting with the new teeth yet. So, the blood makes my stomach a little upset, and the vicodin adds a little to that, so I can only put so much down there before it goes "ok no more."
So, readers, now you know. Now you know why I've been silent on here, and why I was kind of reluctant to discuss what they thought they'd have to do. I mean, come on, what 23 year old has to get dentures? Not the happiest point in my life.
But a part of my life nonetheless. Onwards and Upwards, as they say.
Or maybe that last part is the vicodin talking... I'm not really sure.