Huh?
Other times, I start to write something, but then question if I should be writing about that subject at all, because our kids are at an age where they are reading my blog and are easily embarrassed. As a devoted and caring parent, I wouldn't want to cause them unnecessary embarrassment. But then I remember that just about everything embarrasses our children - especially the teenaged ones - and I should publish those posts anyway, too, because in 30 years when they (God willing) are raising our teenage grandchildren, they might wonder how in the world their parents ever got through it. Those are the posts I should tag #SAVORTHEMOMENTS and #WINEANDPRAYER.
Then of course there are the posts that I start to write and are on topics or happenings that are very important to me, but they take some additional time to craft, and in that time - I feel like my time would be more wisely spent playing our rapidly-growing-children-who-will-be-moving-away-to-college-in-a-few-short-years an impromptu game of Connect Four. Tag #GUILT.
Or, I'll be distracted by Charlie who will drop in and start reading to me the highlights of the daily news, and try as I might, I immediately lose all brainpower and momentum as I tumble down the rabbit hole of global and national news. Tag #NOWWHAT?
All this to say - as the children grow up, our days are becoming more compressed, and world events have my mind spinning out of control and it feels like more often than not, I've hit a writing wall.
Nay, life wall.
Sometimes it's just so mentally hard. And physically draining. And I feel overwhelmed, out outnumbered, and anxious because time is going by in a blur. And yet - there's nothing I'd like to do more than lose myself in a comedian's skit of current world events. Or take a really long nap?!
But tonight, clap! clap! I'm not writing to further dwell on any of that!
Tonight, I'm here to document things for posterity, including a minor oral surgery last week that went no good, horribly, terribly, very badly wrong. As some quick backstory, it turns out that I'm an aggressive tooth brusher and have a problem with grinding my teeth while I sleep. I'm sure my propensity to grind my teeth at night like a cow chewing its cud, might have something to do with our rapidly growing children, a very full schedule, and a worldwide political circus that at any moment, seems to be on the brink of total collapse and complete disaster. Or glory. Or who knows anymore? It's all fake news. (Or is it?) #STRESS. #2018. #JUSTBREATHE. #PASSTHETUMS.
Nonetheless, several years ago, I had to take Elizabeth in to the periodontist for a procedure on one of her teeth, which had a receding gum. The dentist told me that I, too, had receding gums that required repair - but Elizabeth's was the more pressing of the two, and since I didn't want for BOTH of us to have periodontal surgery on the same day - and hers was purportedly worse than mine, I had her go first. The fact that it's taken me nearly five years to have this procedure done for my own teeth, is undoubtedly due to me observing what my sweet child went through, which involved excising a piece of skin from the roof of her mouth, to graft on to her lower gums, I remember distinctly thinking, "OK that's barbaric. Perhaps I should have gone first because now there's NO WAY I'm doing it."
So I didn't. But then my dentist kept asking when I was going to have it done because it's getting worse. And then we moved to a new state, and my new dentist said, "Whoa, you need to get this checked." And then continued to tell me every few months when I went in for a teeth cleaning, "Get it checked, Get it checked, You're in the Red Zone here - GET THIS CHECKED OUT or you'll be losing teeth!" and so I finally went to a periodontist that came highly recommended by a colleague.
I made my appointment and last year, had my first periodontal procedure - that involved yanking all of the gums around the base of my teeth, up over the exposed roots, and then stitching them in place. Kinda like putting rubber bands around your droopy knee socks. While it wasn't pleasant, it sounded like a much better option than cutting out skin from the roof of my mouth.
Alas, the droopy knee sock fix didn't stick. They drooped again, lower this time. So this year, I went BACK to the periodontist and was informed that because of the root area that needs to be repaired, there isn't enough skin they can take from the roof of my mouth in one fell swoop, so instead, it was suggested that I use donor graft. Donor graft that comes from a cadaver's posterior region.
The advantage of this procedure is that they can do a larger area of grafting at one time, which is good for someone like me that has a lot of area that needs to be covered. The downside of this is that sometimes your body vehemently rejects the skin cells from another human being stitched in to your mouth and you wind up with a severe oral infection. This is apparently very uncommon. But wouldn't you know, that's exactly what happened to me because I'm often a magnet for the very uncommon.
My surgery was on Thursday afternoon. While I knew I'd be on a liquid / soft diet for the next week and there would be some discomfort, I fully expected I'd be feeling better by Friday. But I wasn't.
My doctor called to check on me Friday afternoon, and I told her that while I was in pain, I'd surely be feeling better and "only" be on Tylenol by Saturday. When Saturday rolled around and I was desperate for my prescription 800 mg Ibuprofen every 5 hours, I didn't worry too much because the second day is often worse than the first for pain during recovery.
By Saturday night, I was getting a little worried because even while on pain medication, the pain was radiating down my teeth to the base of my roots and the graft looked like it was turning white. But maybe this was normal. Scratch that. Surely this was normal. I tend to overreact sometimes.
Sunday morning found me awake at 4 AM desperately searching for my medicine. We went to church and I prayed and lit a candle for the healing of my gums, and teeth because I'd really like to keep them and not wear dentures before the age of 50. #NOPOLIDENTYET. #PRETTYPLEASE.
The rest of the day Sunday went by in a blur because I succumbed to Henry's pleas and we watched the first episode of Stranger Things on Netflix. It was so good, we then binge watched the rest of Stranger Things and Eleven is now #1 in my book. That's right. We haven't watched more than 10 hours of television in the past three months - and this weekend, we watched 20 hours of televiion in two days. #OHYESWEDID.
This morning I was up again at 4 AM hunting for my medicine, while thinking "this can't be right…" When Charlie woke up, I had him snap off a picture of my gums, which I sent to the doctor with the inquiry, "Does this look OK to you? Wondering if I just have a low threshold for pain, or is there a problem here?" She immediately replied, "Oh no! That's definitely not good! Can you talk?"
Long story short: the graft is severely infected and requires removal first thing tomorrow morning. Until then, it is still in my mouth, stitched to my gum, has turned green and brown, and feels like it is on fire. Ew.
My doctor has called in an additional antibiotic prescription that I started this afternoon, along with another prescription for some heavy duty pain killers which I've just ingested so should probably wrap this up quickly before I fall asleep and start writing about peanut butter.
One last comment: Charlie is heading out of town on a business trip tomorrow immediately after my surgery, and I think it's a bit unnerving that I always go down the tubes, whenever he leaves town for a few days. The last time he left me alone with the children (and puppy) for a week, I was diagnosed with Influenza A on Day 1. This time, I'm going in for gum surgery and have been informed that I'll be jacked up on pain medication that could probably make an elephant drowsy.
And yet I do not despair! Because we are so incredibly fortunate to have an amazing network of support in the area. Several neighbors know what's going on - and have vowed to stay close for the next few days since I can't make important decisions like what to cook for dinner. I'll also be unable to operate heavy machinery which at this juncture encompasses our refrigerator, dishwasher, and stove. See, what a great opportunity for our children to step up and help!
So in conclusion I'm so grateful for friends - and for kids who, when they chose to be, are awesome little people who have learned how to cook #QUESADILLAS and candlelight rainbow peanut butter.
That's my sign.
G'night and Godspeed!
