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There are two types of "Wow"s that a doctor can make. The first I've heard from my regular dentist, after seeing the state of my mouth in the last few months. That "wow" means "You're doing a fantastic job! This is a tremendous amount of improvement! I'm quite proud of the work we've invested in your health!"
And then there's today's "wow" from my periodontist, which essentially means "Oh, that poor son-of-a-bitch."
Rewind. I've been sick. Symptoms: chills, fever, headaches, throataches. Lately my gums've been sore. So sore that this morning I couldn't have coffee (read that again: couldn't have coffee -- yes, I'm serious). Bee got me to acknowledge that I need to see a doctor when out of the blue the periodontist visit appears. So I figure, well, maybe he'll know what to make of this. The hygenist takes one look at me and scuttles off to find the doc. He comes in, takes one look, says "Wow" in that "You did fill out the 'next-of-kin' blank, didn't you?" way and announces that I have a viral infection. In fact, a major viral infection (I looked in the file).
This means a lot of things. It means a week and a half, if not two, of these symptoms. Antibiotics are useless, time to just strap in and ride this baby home. But, more immediately, it means that I've got pretty healthy gum tissue riddled with viral ulcerations -- think canker sores, but bigger and in packs -- everywhere, including the throat. And that the topical anaesthetic I like so much isn't going to do a damn bit of good. Which is fantastic, because on today's agenda is deep root cleaning. It's like flossing with steel. No, it's like someone else flossing you with steel, and poking under your gum tissue with Mr. Probey and The Digger, glittering instruments of medieval pain. Which is bad enough when you're healthy. Imagine someone else jabbing a pushpin into a canker sore on your mouth and then repeating it sixty-odd times. Imagine getting breaks every ten pokes/scrapes/digs or so to rinse because you're bleeding. That was my morning.
Well, okay, they did give me the option to reschedule when they first saw me, but considering it was a 7:30 appointment and two hours of driving, no, I said, hit me. Oh, yes, that's it, encourage the painbringers. I should note that my periodontist shares a name with a character in Planetary, not that that's significant, but one of the many things I thought of this morning. It was about the only thought other than OMFG THAT HURT.
I was able to drink coffee afterwards, 'cause, I mean, how much more could it possibly hurt? It wasn't terribly warm, but it was good.
So I've got another week of being sick. Yay. And more not-debilitating pain meds. Eh. Yay. And Tiny's screeeeeaming at me. Better go rescue the pigses. Daddy's comin'!
And then there's today's "wow" from my periodontist, which essentially means "Oh, that poor son-of-a-bitch."
Rewind. I've been sick. Symptoms: chills, fever, headaches, throataches. Lately my gums've been sore. So sore that this morning I couldn't have coffee (read that again: couldn't have coffee -- yes, I'm serious). Bee got me to acknowledge that I need to see a doctor when out of the blue the periodontist visit appears. So I figure, well, maybe he'll know what to make of this. The hygenist takes one look at me and scuttles off to find the doc. He comes in, takes one look, says "Wow" in that "You did fill out the 'next-of-kin' blank, didn't you?" way and announces that I have a viral infection. In fact, a major viral infection (I looked in the file).
This means a lot of things. It means a week and a half, if not two, of these symptoms. Antibiotics are useless, time to just strap in and ride this baby home. But, more immediately, it means that I've got pretty healthy gum tissue riddled with viral ulcerations -- think canker sores, but bigger and in packs -- everywhere, including the throat. And that the topical anaesthetic I like so much isn't going to do a damn bit of good. Which is fantastic, because on today's agenda is deep root cleaning. It's like flossing with steel. No, it's like someone else flossing you with steel, and poking under your gum tissue with Mr. Probey and The Digger, glittering instruments of medieval pain. Which is bad enough when you're healthy. Imagine someone else jabbing a pushpin into a canker sore on your mouth and then repeating it sixty-odd times. Imagine getting breaks every ten pokes/scrapes/digs or so to rinse because you're bleeding. That was my morning.
Well, okay, they did give me the option to reschedule when they first saw me, but considering it was a 7:30 appointment and two hours of driving, no, I said, hit me. Oh, yes, that's it, encourage the painbringers. I should note that my periodontist shares a name with a character in Planetary, not that that's significant, but one of the many things I thought of this morning. It was about the only thought other than OMFG THAT HURT.
I was able to drink coffee afterwards, 'cause, I mean, how much more could it possibly hurt? It wasn't terribly warm, but it was good.
So I've got another week of being sick. Yay. And more not-debilitating pain meds. Eh. Yay. And Tiny's screeeeeaming at me. Better go rescue the pigses. Daddy's comin'!
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Seriously, best of luck getting better soon.