"Remoted - Hybrid" – Day 579 (Saturday)

This morning began at 3:00 with waking up thirsty. But really, it began about 20 months ago on February 13, 2020. That was the night I broke a molar while eating popcorn, which had me in the dental chair on Valentine’s Day. The 14th had been booked as a vacation day in a strategic move to avoid dealing with colleague’s flowers, candy, and special date plans where I’m forced to smile pleasantly while the lonely old lady inside me dies a thousand times. Instead, at the dentist, I was peppered with 100 direct questions about my Valentine’s plans. It was delightful, and really, why would I ever want to do something fun on a vacation day when there are so many non-fun activities like visiting the vet or  doctor, or maybe the dentist to be interrogated about Valentine’s Day.

The pandemic and shutdowns hit about a week before the next scheduled dental visit, and it was months before the tooth could be addressed again. Then the crown didn’t fit, requiring a new one, and another visit for the mounting. It cost many hundreds of dollars after the sliver of cost that insurance paid.

This winter saw the cleaning visit with 18 x-rays that left me with TMJ and unable to open my mouth for a solid week. Spring and summer had the endodontist consultation for a root canal, where testing resulted in a recommendation for an extraction. The saga continued with the consultation with the dental surgeon. The surgeon said the appointment would take two hours, and the insurance company said it would cost nearly  twice as much out of pocket as the crown.

The week saw moderate-level perma-stress leading up to today. There was high-level crankiness this morning with no coffee, no breakfast, not even water. The mandatory fast for anesthesia saw my last sip of water at 3:00am, so in a way waking up was a blessing that allowed for the last bit of anything before the eight-hour window slammed shut.

Mom drove an hour from Gardner to take me to the oral surgeon. Basically, she paid the price for my lack of both a significant other and local friends. We chatted for a while before it was time to go, partly to sort out the various bits of info from the dental office. The string of mail, texts, and emails leading up to today often included contradictory information. 

Glorious empty waiting room.

The initial appointment sheet said the appointment was at 11:00, and in bold all caps text screamed, “RIDES MAY NOT LEAVE THE BUILDING.” Follow-up text messages said the appointment was at 11:15, to arrive 30 minutes early, and that patients must come alone to appointment and the driver must remain in the car. When I checked in, the receptionist asked where my driver was. Well, she was in the car, as instructed in the three text messages received in the past week. The receptionist said that during the week, they ask people to not wait in the waiting room, but on the weekend it’s okay. And I would know this, how? She also said the appointment was 45 minutes, not the two hours the surgeon said during the consultation. 

The equivalent of two week's take home pay (also known as one mortgage payment) was collected via credit card for the portion not covered by insurance. Gotta love the American health insurance system. The other option was to let the tooth rot in my head and continue damaging the jaw bone, which received a bone graft as part of the process today.

There a blood pressure cuff, wrist monitors, finger monitor, IV. After that, it was a lovely span of nothingness, and then it was over. I didn’t even receive the most expensive tooth in my head as a souvenir, which was disappointing. There was a post-operative care sheet and a trip to the pharmacy. The sheet was skimmed, the prescriptions were reviewed.

After we were back at the house for a while, Mom commented that I was less ghastly pale and not walking like a drunk any longer. After assurances that I’d be parked on the couch the rest of the day, she felt comfortable leaving. There was a lovely nap of several hours, some ice cream, and more napping. Unfortunately, it was a solid six hours before I carefully read the care sheet and saw I was supposed to have been icing my jaw for 25-minute stretches for the first 48 hours. Oops. 

Avoid smoking though a straw.

The instructions also state, in bold text, “Please avoid smoking and drinking through a straw for 3 days.” I’ve enjoyed imagining someone smoking through a straw. A liquid to soft diet is recommended and for a second I thought it would be party time at The BungaLowell. The potential fun of a champagne diet was shattered in the next sentence with “Please avoid alcohol for 48 hours.” So much for that idea. 

Now there are only about 300 more steps and many, many, more dollars to be spent to fill the crater in my head where a dead tooth used to be. Things to look forward to.