I hate going to the dentist.
I realize I shouldn’t say that. I’m an educated adult that knows good dental hygiene is important to overall health. Blah, blah, blah. I don’t care. It’s worse than having a baby. I’d rather go to the hospital and have some type of small surgery performed on me rather than go get my teeth worked on. It’s not logical, but it is what it is.
Teeth Trouble in the Summer
I went to a routine cleaning for my teeth in the middle of the summer. (I tried to put it off and get it rescheduled, but I didn’t really have a good excuse.)
During the cleaning, the hygienist noticed a raised ‘bubble’ on the side of my gums, halfway back on the bottom left side. I knew it was there, but told her that I hadn’t noticed anything hurting in that area. (Okay. This was a partial lie. I’d noticed some pain, but nothing substantial enough to admit to.)
When the dentist came in at the end of the appointment, he took a look at it and told me it was likely an infection. After talking about x-rays and technical stuff, he said basically that the tooth should come out or it was really going to start causing trouble.
I squinted my eyes at him and gave him my best scary look, but he wasn’t fooled. Dr. Cook stuck to his suggestion and gave me a knowing smile. (Dr. Cook recently took over for my childhood dentist, Dr. Golder. He’s a great guy and I really like him, but this news was not wanted, so I was in a dilemma. If he had looked at my 4-inch thick file in the back room, page one probably reads, “Ashley hates the dentist.”)
Dr. Cook gave me the standard talk about how the procedure was quick, I’d be happy to have it done, and all of that. He then started talking about the need for an implant months after the extraction. I must have paled at that point because he quickly said we could discuss that later.
After thanking the Dr., I walked to the reception desk, making an appointment that I knew full well I was probably going to reschedule.
I don’t mean to be that type of person. I’m usually more reasonable and responsible. In this situation, I don’t care.
An Unexpected Appointment
My October appointment for the tooth extraction came and went. It just so happened that I had a meeting at work scheduled for the same time. Now, I scheduled the school meeting knowing full well that I was double booking myself, but that’s besides the point. I didn’t mention that to the dentist people.
The receptionist was nice and understanding about my school meeting. We both decided we would talk about the tooth issue at my upcoming cleaning during my Christmas break appointment. (I thought about it, but I didn’t reschedule that one. I’m not completely irresponsible.)
Now a week before the cleaning, I had been starting to feel more and more discomfort in the cheek on the left side of my face. I’ve had enough root canals to know that sometimes tooth discomfort travels around and can become painful quickly. I didn’t say anything to anyone, and took some occasional Advil as needed. I hoped it would go away, but of course it didn’t.
The day of my cleaning arrived quickly. Brian, my husband, had scheduled all of our teeth cleanings on the same day. It was a Gochenour appointment day at Dr. Cook’s office. Yippee.
“Our appointment today – is it just cleanings?” I asked Brian on the way to the dentist.
“I talked with Linda when she confirmed that appointments yesterday. Cleanings for all of us,” he responded.
I sighed in relief. A cleaning I can handle if I concentrate on other things.
It was going to be okay.
We checked in and started to find seats in the waiting room. It was not a surprise when my name was called before I could even find a seat. Great. Just my luck. I’m first.
The nice dental hygienist took me back and started cleaning my teeth right away. I must be getting old because she looked like she was 14 years old. I know she’s not, and she’s amazing at her job, but I just remember looking at her an thinking she looks so young. It’s one of those things I guess you notice as you get older.
In a matter of minutes, Dr. Cook came in to look at my teeth and talk with me. This was different than our usual cleaning appointments. He typically showed up at the end.
“Good news,” he said. “We’ve had a cancellation and we are going to do your tooth extraction right after your cleaning.” He smiled at me as if to say, “Ball in your court.”
My heart plummeted, but I’m not a quitter. “Yay,” I meekly answered.
“It’ll be fine. No worries at all.” Dr. Cook stood at the doorway and reassured me. “I’ll see you in about half an hour and we’ll get started.”
Karma had just bit me in the butt.
Pre-Extraction (It was traumatic enough to get its own section.)
My teeth cleaning lady led me to a different room. Evidently, dentist offices sometimes have rooms for different procedures.
As I went from one room to the next, I glanced towards my family sitting in the waiting room. They now knew what was happening and were just sitting there. Doing nothing to stop this monstrosity. They could have pulled a fire alarm, made something up, anything to help, but no. They just sat there smiling.
The young lady handed me off to Diane, my lady that usually sees/puts up with me. Dr. Cook quickly entered and was placing a picture of my tooth on a TV in front of my chair.
“The extraction should take only 10 minutes,” he said.
“The word ‘extraction’ is intimidating,” I replied. “It sounds horrendous. The whole thing reminds me of Bugs Bunny in a cartoon pulling a tooth out with pliers.”
“It’s not. Easy as pie. After that, we take sterilized bone from a cadaver, place it over the opening, stitch up the sides of your gums to cover it, and we are done.” He had the audacity to smile.
“Today?!” I said incredulously. “All of that?”
“Won’t take long at all. Here is a consent form for you to sign and then we’ll start numbing you up.”
I took the clipboard and signed my name, knowing I needed to do this, but kind of wishing I would have been eased into it a little more – like over a course of a year or two.
Dr. Cook knew my thoughts as if I had a readout on my forehead. He was given an opportunity with the canceled appointment, and he was taking advantage of it. Props to him.
As the dentist started giving me the shots to numb the area, I was thinking, ‘He said cadaver. I know what a cadaver is. Oh my goodness.”
Dr. Cook left the room for a bit to give the medicine time to work. I looked at Diane.
“The power could go out,” I said hopefully. “A huge snowstorm could start right now and we would have to reschedule.”
Diane laughed out loud and gave me a sympathetic look. “No turning back now.”
“Super,” I answered.
Extracting the Tooth
I’m going to be honest. I closed my eyes for most of this.
Dr. Cook started by using some type of contraption, probably resembling pliers, and wiggled the bad tooth back and forth. That didn’t seem to do much.
He then decided to use one of those drills, the ones that make the awful high-pitched sound, to cut through the crown on top of the tooth.
The drill step seemed to be a pivotal part of the whole process. Once he cut through, we could all smell the infection. It wasn’t overwhelming, but definitely there.
At this same time, Diane was helping by holding my tongue back and using one of those sucker things to clean up debris in my mouth. It probably looked like someone was using a jackhammer on my teeth and pieces of concrete were scattered everywhere.
Next, Dr. Cook pulled the now two sections of my tooth out one by one. He mentioned to me that I would hear bone cracking. He was right. It was awful.
Less than 10 minutes after beginning, the tooth was fully out.
After the pieces of the tooth were gone, they cleaned up the area and the open cavity with water and the sucker thing. Even after all the anesthetic, I could still feel some discomfort, but it wasn’t unbearable.
The final part was a little unnerving. The dentist packed the dead guy’s bone on top of the hole and then started to stitch the opening closed. It didn’t hurt at all, but feeling the thread go in and out was a little odd. Also, all I could keep thinking was that I had some dead person’s bone in my mouth.
They gave me some gauze to bite on and pointed me in the direction of the waiting room. I may have staggered a little, but I didn’t hesitate with the leaving portion of the appointment.
If I would have glanced back, I probably would have seen relief on Diane’s and the Dr.’s faces. Who am I kidding? They probably were high-fiving each other.
Post Extraction
For some reason, I wasn’t expecting blood, but there was a bunch of it for awhile. I kept changing my gauze pieces that I was biting down on, as well as spitting icky blood into the sink.
I was given an antibiotic to start on, as well as a steroid packet to help with pain, I think. Brian picked these up on the way home and I started them right away. I also took a couple Advil and then took a nap.
About 3 hours after the procedure, my bleeding seemed to stop.
I drank some soup about 6 or 7 hours after having my tooth pulled and did well with drinking water and Diet Coke.
I’m not sure about how I feel about the large hole in my mouth. I am writing this blog post the night of the tooth extraction and I haven’t yet wanted to look in the mirror to see what it looks like.
I can feel the change in my mouth. I’m hoping the hole is far back enough to not really effect my look of my teeth or my eating.
I’m glad the procedure is over. I have an appointment for a crown in January. I think I have a meeting scheduled for that day. When I return to school after Winter Break, I’ll make sure to make one.
Goals for Today:
- Clean a Kitchen Cupboard
- Make Christmas Cookies at Dad’s House (I’m late on that, but oh well.)
- Spend time in my Writing Cabin