September 25, 2019

Today is a big day for my teeth (and for our country) — and while terrified for the severity of what will unfold where/when/how and heretofore unknown messy challenges that surely lie ahead, conclusive answers and definitive plans of action also can’t come soon enough. I am referring to my full slate of dental appointments, diagnostics and scans, though the same could be said about our federal government at this historic moment.

 

Knowledge is power, and I’ve largely been in the dark about the state of my mouth since seeing dentists a couple of days after my accident, when I was discharged from the hospital. I’m trying to be positive and brave — and in a twisted way, suppose I am also anxiously excited or at the very least expectant — about seeing and hearing from the oral surgeon, root canal specialist, cosmetic dentist and array of other doctors whose titles I can neither spell nor pronounce, but who specialize in various aspects of the mouth, teeth, jaw, implants, and many injured facets of me that need serious work. I hope to find comfort, clarity and reassurance in what the medical teams say, especially as my teeth have begun to hurt once more, slowly disattaching from the device that has been keeping the damaged ones immobilized over the past two weeks.

 

Remember when your front teeth were on the brink of falling out as a kid? And you giddily wiggled them back and forth? And you could feel air and liquids going up into the root? And you maybe even tried to yank ‘em out to hasten the arrival of the Tooth Fairy? Well, that’s me now… only they are not baby teeth, it is zero fun (read: mega painful), and major surgeries with massive dental bills await me on the other side, instead of mythical gifts of shiny silver dollars for my piggy bank.