The Clever Badger To add insult to injury, the platypus is leading.

Nothing Says “Weekend!” Like a Little Dental Surgery

Of my mother's contributions to my gene pool, one trait in particular has annoyed me for years - thin gums.

My dentist has been on me for years to do something about it, and after much needling, I finally set up the first of what will probably be two graft procedures to repair some of the damage that nature has wrought upon me.

I had considered writing this post as a live-blog of the event, but the nice lady with the sharp objects that was going to be poking around in my mouth suggested it might be better if I wasn't moving around while she was working.  After some consideration, I decided she was probably right.

What follows, then, is a reconstruction of the process to the best of my recollection, as told through the slight mental gauze of the pain meds my periodontist thoughtfully prescribed.

The assistant, who I'll refer to as Inga, started the afternoon off working through the list of do's and don'ts - do rinse with the special mouthwash we'll prescribe, do sleep somewhat upright for a couple of days, don't eat chips or other crunchy foods, don't drink anything through a straw.  (They didn't specifically say to avoid fizzy beverages or alcohol, which was unexpected.  "Fizzy" and "sutures in your mouth" usually don't go together well...)  You might be sore, there might be some swelling, there will be blood...

OK.  Got all that.  Time to get down to business.

The doctor, who shall be referred to as Frau Blucher, provides me with some sunglasses.  At first I am puzzled until it clicks that I'll be spending the next hour with the glaring dental lamp shining in my face.  The shades have the little pink breast cancer awareness logo on them.  For some reason Frau Blucher apologizes, as if either the concept of breast cancer awareness or perhaps the word "breast" is a problem.  I divert the conversation by mentioning the bright pink shirt my daughter bought me a few years ago for my birthday.

Sunglasses and disposable bib in place, my chair is reclined and Frau Blucher produces a large swab containing the topical anesthetic.   Immediately I wish that topical anesthetics came in a flavor other than "vile".

Next, she produces a large syringe.  By my estimate, it's about 14 inches long and probably holds about a gallon of what I assume was lidocaine.  The needle appears to be at least 4 inches long.  I'm fervently hoping that she doesn't intend to drive the entire needle in anywhere.

She starts the festivities with three shots to various places in and around my lower lip and gum.  Given how long she left the needle in for each one, I suspect that the lower part of my face probably looks like a cantaloupe.  I can feel the numbness spread through my jaw, and when she subsequently started poking around with a probe, I could honestly answer the question "can you feel anything pointy now?" in the negative.  So far so good.

Next, she turns her attention to the roof of my mouth.  It is from this area that the tissue to be grafted is harvested.  I like that term.  Harvested.  It reminds me of the scenes in The Matrix movies with the people-farms.

She srubs the roof of my mouth with something.  It's a different flavor of vile than the other stuff, but not much of an improvement.  Frau Blucher informs me that she's going to give a couple of shots into the harvest area, and that they're going to hurt (really?).  She also says that to distract from the pain, she's going to press really really hard on the area with the handle of a probe, so that it'll hurt MORE than the needle, so when the needle goes in I won't notice it.  Wait, what?  I suppose I should be glad that she didn't tell me she was going to drop a bowling ball in my lap.

Anyway, again with the needle, and a couple of extra shots into my gum just for good measure.

While we're waiting for everything to get good and numb, it's time for a little conversation.

Frau Blucher:  Did Inga go over everything with you?

Me:  Mrphgy.

FB:  Great!  Do you have any questions?

Me:  Pvneprygpslayg?

FB:  Well, normally that's not a problem, but for some people the harvest site stays sore for a few months.

Me:  Mrapguahputparhaicaoyugheia?

FB:  Probably about an hour.

At this point, Inga returns.  Inga's role will be the blotter.  The significance of this role becomes apparent to me in about 10 minutes.

Frau Blucher begins the actual procedure by prepping the area to be grafted.  My view of this is, understandably, limited to the top of her head and her gloved forearms.  I do, however, notice that the first tool used in the prepping looks disturbingly like a rasp.  As near as I can tell, she was roughing up the surface of the existing gum to make it more receptive to the graft.  Unfortunately I was not in a position to make a detailed enquiry.  More unfortunately, I could hear the scraping.  At this point, the vital nature of Inga's role is driven home, as she produces a gauze pad which, when it finally exits my field of view, leaves no question in my mind that cruel trauma has been inflicted to my gum.

The next step is the harvest.  This promises to be the most entertaining part yet, because the geometry of the situation demands that I have a parts of four hands crammed into my mouth.  Four hands and a scalpel.

I am very grateful for good anesthetics.  Did I mention that?

As Frau Blucher is beginning her assault on the roof of my mouth, I note that she's whistling along to the song on the radio.  The song is "One of Us", by Joan Osborne, from her 1995 album Relish.

I will give Frau Blucher credit.  She is deft with a scalpel.  In under a minute, she has completed her harvesting.  As she removes the harvested piece (to put it on ice, I hope), I catch a glimpse of it.  It reminds me of sashimi.

Inga is diligently blotting, but she's not fast enough.  I become aware of the warm, coppery taste in the back of my mouth, and absentmindedly wonder which one of my brothers has my set of True Blood Season 1 DVDs.

Frau Blucher begins to suture the harvested site.  They are using dissolving suture, so I won't have to make an appointment specifically to have the stitches removed.  While I cannot actually feel the needle, I can feel the thread move through the tissue.  It's a little weird.  From my perspective, it seems that she uses about eight feet of suture to close up the site.  In reality it is only a few inches.

The last major thing to do is to place and secure the graft.  It will go over several of the teeth in the front of my lower jaw, and will be held in place by a number of stitches.  My teeth will be used as anchors for the stitches, since (as Frau Blucher helpfully pointed out) they tend not to move much.  A lot of time, perhaps 20 minutes, is spent on this step.  during which the anesthetic begins to wear off slightly.  I alert Frau Blucher to this development, and she informs me that we're almost done.  Again, I seriously overestimate the amount of suture that she's using.  This time it's about a foot, total.

Finally, Frau Blucher mixes up the material that will serve as the bandages in my mouth.  It is pink, and resembles Silly Putty.  It does not have, as far as I can tell, a distinct smell.  It is pressed into place over my lower teeth, and then over the wound in the roof of my mouth.

A bit of final blotting, and we're done.  I  am slightly lightheaded when I stand up, but that passes quickly.  The anesthetic is starting to wear off everywhere, and I have a pretty good idea of where I'll be sore later.  My face feels swollen and puffy, but it really isn't.  I notice that my speech is somewhat distorted as I make the follow-up appointment for next week, where Frau Blucher will evaluate my progress and we will presumably decide when to do the second graft.  I suspect it will be early November.

As I leave to drop the prescriptions for the mouth rinse and the painkiller off, I mentally calculate that I've got about 30 minutes before the anesthesia completely wears off.  (A calculation that, I might add, was spot-on.)

Fortunately, my pharmacy works quickly.

CB