WHAT'S BEEN GOIN' ON, GOIN' ON
Oh, the things we go through in the name of true, pure, senses-shattering beauty.
So if you guys have not been following my Twitter feed, you may not know that last Thursday I, at long last, after great GREAT trepidation, went under the knife and had my two front teeth cut out. They're the same teeth I knocked out originally when I was thirteen, and which then the dentist crammed back into my head. After the root canals, they told me they'd turn black and fall out (OMG!) in around 7 years, but today I'm 35 years old, and more than 22 years have gone by. Apparently the teeth had become fused to the bone over the years, so instead of dramatically turning black and falling out, they just turned a sort of muddy brown over the years, and little pieces would break off now and then.
Either way, it turned out that, while they were indeed fused to the bone, they were being "resorbed" by my body, meaning my body was eating them slowly away, and soon they'd just break off and fall out. I really can't think of anything more terrifying to me--after all this time, including the entirety of my teenage years and adulthood, of being afraid of my teeth falling out, it's a pretty powerful fear for me. So I agreed that we should cut these badboys out and start putting something in their place, rather than wait for the worst weekend ever to occur, or one to break off while I was kissing a girl or eating peanut brittle or something.
So it happened. The night before me, Dylan, Piemaker and Anida met for a last toast to my poor old little brown beans, splashing a little Jameson's over them one more time. The next morning my friend Kate very kindly took me to the oral surgeon's office, whose receptionist you can tell a direct lie to and she'll choose to believe you because she can tell you would argue her forever otherwise (the lie was whether or not I'd had a cup of coffee that morning: I had). A few minutes later I was waking up high as all get-out, blood all over my mouth, and with something massive inside of my mouth. It was the appliance that my actual dentist The Roz (Dr. Gordon Roznik, D.M.D.) had made for me, essentially a retainer with two big ole teeth on the front.
You have to remember that I've had these undersized weak teeth--I don't know if I've ever bit confidently into an apple in my adult life--forever, so the idea of something being normal-sized in that space was pretty weird. So at first I guess I thought it was normal for my mouth to not be closing all the way--strangely, before I busted them out I had some big ole buck teeth, so I just assumed it was back to that. Remember I was high as heck on Thursday.
But by Friday my face was hurting like crazy, and I could tell the appliance wasn't fitting right. I also was getting more and more concerned throughout the weekend about this pain in my face--I can definitely be pretty whiny, but I'm not bad with handling pain, especially when taking these massive 800mg Motrin's every 6 hours. But the pain didn't seem to be lessening at all. I really hadn't had any instruction from the surgeon as to what to expect, so I felt kind of lost--I would take my appliance out and peer at the horrifying wounds and just sort of wonder if that was how they were supposed to look.
That's why I love The Roz so much--on Monday morning I trooped down to his office, ostensibly to follow up on the fit of my appliance. But while I was in the chair I asked The Roz to check out my wounds--sure enough, I had the dry socket! TIMES TWO! Without hesitation The Roz was cleaning those badboys out, before I even had a chance to grab something to keep from screaming, then packing some sort of numbing medicine stuff in there to promote healing, then handing me a bottle of special rinse and patiently answering all the questions I was wincing out at him. Time elapsed--maybe 4 minutes. Charge = $0. The other guy cut my teeth out for $900 and all I got was a handout telling me to rinse with salt water and apply ice!
Not only that, but The Roz hooked up my appliance too, although he had to shave some of my crooked teeth down to get everything to fit, and now my fake teeth are so sharp I could bite your finger off. But when I left his office I was feeling 1000% better than when I walked in. It's not just The Roz either, it's his whole staff, everyone is just super friendly and relaxed and trying to figure out how to help you, from the hygienists to the receptionists. I feel like a star when I walk in there, it's amazing. We're talking about THE DENTIST here, you know? But I love The Roz, he's the best, and that's saying something for a guy with more than his share of dental fright (me). Check out what I look like now, I'm giddy:
Okay that's all I have to say--isn't it plenty? I'm working on a short comic about all this to post next month, so you'll get the update then. In the meantime, if you live anywhere near Charlotte and are looking for the baddest-assed dentist possible, please accept my highest possible recommendation for Dr. Gordon Roznik. Don't worry, he doesn't go by "The Roz," that's just what me and the Piemaker (another patient) call him. The staff crack up every time too--"the Roz told me to check and see if I have enough insurance left for a deep cleaning." Anyway, love The Roz. I had to take down the video I had up here--I couldn't figure out how to keep it from playing by itself all the time, it was driving me nuts.
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