On Friday I had the inestimable pleasure of experiencing dental surgery, in the form of my second gum graft. (If you’re paying attention, you may recall that I had my first gum graft almost three years ago.) It’s a fairly straightforward procedure in which they remove some tissue from the roof of your mouth, which is grafted to your gum to cover a receding gumline on one of your teeth. Good times, man. Good times.
The truth is that this procedure is not as bad as it sounds, in my experience. I should mention that my dentist, the amazing Dr. Jin, totally rocks the house. He gives a freezing shot that doesn’t hurt at all, without applying any of that topical numbing stuff to your gums first. He speaks gently and quietly. He has all this high-tech equipment that helps make sure everything goes smoothly, and that you can heal more quickly. And thanks to the TVs in the ceiling, you can just pretend you’re not even at the dentist’s office at all. Honestly, the whole thing took about 90 minutes and was really as easy as possible for me. Plus – true story – as I was writing this post the office called to check up on me to see how I am doing (it’s currently about 24 hours after the procedure).
This time around I don’t have much swelling
All the same, having dental surgery isn’t exactly what I would call a great way to spend the day. And once it’s over, there’s the aftermath to deal with. At the moment I have a bunch of stitches in my gum and a firm, plastic dressing on the roof of my mouth. I’m not allowed to eat crunchy foods, and all the food I do eat tastes like burnt rubber thanks to the dressing. I have to take antibiotics and use a special mouth rinse, and while I’m not really in pain I have some mild discomfort, roughly equivalent to, say, the tenderness that follows a bruise.
I am feeling sorry for myself, let me tell you. Very, very, sorry for myself
Of course, my children don’t really get it. My daughter Hannah does, sort of, understand that I’m not exactly feeling 100%. However, as is appropriate for an eight-year-old child, she’s more focused on herself than on what I’m going through. My son Jacob is just four-and-a-half, and he just can’t wrap his head around the idea that maybe he should lay off of me. When he’s asking me for a whole bunch of stuff, it only makes me feel sorrier for myself. It’s tough to be me, yo.
I will be fine. I have Pride & Prejudice on DVD, I’ve stocked up on pudding and soup, I have a cupboard full of tea, and my husband is doing his best to run interference with the kids. But I am definitely crossing my fingers that this is the last time I have to experience that particular procedure. My dentist may be awesome, but I’m still not in any particular rush to go spend time in his chair.
How do you take care of yourself when you’re having a pity party? Tell me!