Warning:  This blog entry is a bit graphic and may upset the squeamish among you.


Try as we might, Dr. Woodmont and I could not dispatch the last gum disease I had.  The rear molars refused to seal up over the pocket that had stubborn bacteria in it.  After 7 years of having their way with my roots, it was time to evict the little beasties.  I went under the knife.

"Local anesthetics work by blocking nerve impulses. At a cellular level this occurs by blocking sodium channels in the nerve membranes. When sodium is blocked in this way, the nerve cannot conduct an impulse and therefore no sensation can be transmitted. Different local anesthetic drugs differ in their side effects, dosages and duration of action."

And they do their job, by golly.  First, Dr. Woodmont has me swallow a prescription strength ibuprofen as a pre-emptive strike on the swelling he's about to cause.  Then he swabs my gums with a local, topical (on the surface, not injected) anesthetic to numb the surface of the gum.  After the gum's surface is disabled, the needle goes inside, near the nerve that would make me an absolute wreck without some relief.  This is the worst part of the surgery.  It smarts a little.  Occasionally, he hits just the right place and it would give a sharp stab momentarily.  Soon enough, he's done and the rest is surreal.

Minutes later, he gives me a second dose of Novocaine.  This is really a good idea as I've had the stuff start to wear off mid-procedure.  The second needle is almost painless.  The worst of it doesn't feel like much more than firm pressure.  I'm in the zone.

Dr. Woodmont has a scalpel; a no-kiddin' frigging SCALPEL.  Oral surgery is the real deal.  He cuts into the gum and saws back and forth like he's cutting into steak.  I wonder to myself:  "He's so casual about it.  I'm PAYING for this????"  I giggle inwardly.  I know this is entirely sane, despite appearances.  The cutting doesn't hurt, my head is pushed a little back and forth.  That's all.

He coaches the dental hygienist through what he's doing.  Perhaps she's in training?  I wish I understood more of the terminology.  I'd also like a videotape for later.  They don't offer.

He sharpens the scalpel on a stone right in front of me!  It's a good thing I don't spook easily.  A lot of people would be really weirded out by that.

SNAP!  He takes some beastly pliers-like tool and removes the grafts Dr. Aredo put in seven years ago and stuck out from my gumline uselessly.  He places a new one at the base of my rearmost molars to replace bone eaten away by the seven year colony of bacteria.  The ghost of "The Butcher" is being exorcised; the curse lifted.

Closing up the gum with five or six stitches...  OW!  The stitching needle nicks my lip!  Dr. Woodmont is deep in concentration and can't be bothered.  I want him to finish, so I don't make an issue of it and he doesn't repeat the error.

Equipped with Amoxicillin, 8 prescription strength ibuprofen and three vicodin, he sends me back to work with ice packs.  (THAT got some funny looks from the co-workers!)

I pop the ibuprofen on schedule to avoid swelling more than address the pain.  It isn't that bad.  It doesn't get worse. 

I am allowed to eat as soon as I wish, but the jaw is sore.  Oddly, the jaw is the least of my problems.  The nick on my lip wasn't the only soft tissue wound I received.  While doing what he had to, Dr. Woodmont apparently tore into my cheek at the side and rear.  These sores make opening my jaw more than a quarter inch non-negotiable.  I'm eating soup, applesauce and the like.  Biting something like a sandwich is out of the question.  I eat a McChicken and two apple pies with a knife and fork.  We bake pizza the next night and it takes me an hour to eat three slices.  I have some ice cream.  For breakfast, I have one of the fresh bagels I brought home for Dyingwife.  It takes me an hour to eat half a bagel.  I chop it into hors d'oeurves size to make it feasible.  I drink milk for the first time in years.  I eat higher calorie foods because the time it would take to eat nutritious food would be dreadfully long.  I'd be eating most of the day and my jaws would get sore.  Junk food and desserts are the order of the day.

I return to Dr. Woodmont's office to get the stitches out and the sores are all but gone.  The gums look good, I'm told.  Chewing on one side for two weeks has set my habits a-kilter and I bite wrong on the right side.  Excess pressure makes my wounded jaw chastise me for my carelessness.  I'll need to practice, but normal eating can commence.  It's time for restraint once again.  Veggies and fiber are back on the menu.  It was fun while it lasted.