My silver lining this week is ice cream. See, I’m kind of like a kid who just had her tonsils removed. Actually, I was that kid once upon a time. I can’t remember if I was allowed to eat unlimited popsicles post-procedure, but I’m betting I probably was.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a tonsillectomy this week. (Wow – that’s a sentence you don’t see often.) This week I underwent oral surgery…. to have my front tooth removed.
A little backstory: Almost 20 years ago, I tangled with a Mack truck on the highway. It won. My car (or actually my mother’s Camry) was totaled. I remember bits and pieces of the event. As in, I have flashes of sitting strapped in the driver’s seat, unable to move, as the EMTs attempted to speak to me and then extract me. I vaguely recall staring at the ceiling of an ambulance and babbling about Italy to no one in particular. Then I remember lying on a table in a hospital somewhere, with lots of bright light and activity swirling around me. I found out later that the rush of activity was the trauma team doing their thing.
I was incredibly lucky. Apart from some lacerations, bruising and a fair amount of soreness, I was okay. I still have some scarring on my chin and right arm, but, overall, no permanent injuries.
Except for my front tooth.
During the accident, my rear view mirror had flown off the windshield and hit me in the mouth. There were no immediately apparent effects, but, a week or so after the accident, I began to experience unbearable pain in my tooth. I would double over whenever I took a breath.
By that time, I had already moved halfway across the country to San Diego (because why not move to California with no prospects or plan while still recovering from a major car accident, right?) and was just trying to find a job and figure out which way was up. I ended up at an emergency dental clinic, where they told me my tooth was cracked. They would have to do a root canal and give me a crown on my front tooth. Since I needed to be able to breathe without falling down in pain, there wasn’t much choice in the matter.
Over the succeeding 20 years, my crown and I came to have a love-hate relationship. Or maybe it was more of a toleration-hate relationship. Having the crown was better than no tooth at all. But I never loved the way it looked, and it had a habit of falling out at the most inopportune times. On my first weekend getaway to Vegas with my then-boyfriend, now-husband. In the middle of a lecture at a continuing legal education event in D.C. Eventually, it was falling out several times each year.
This situation didn’t work for me, because I can’t pull off the “hockey player chic” look. I just don’t have that swagger. When the tooth falls out, I more closely resemble the witch from Snow White. You know, the one that pushes the poison apple. It’s not a good look.
Recently, the dentist informed me the tooth needed to come out entirely, to be replaced with an implant and brand-new tooth. Seeing as I need a tooth that is apt to stay in my mouth, there wasn’t much way around this, either.
I didn’t realize how attached I was to the remains of my front tooth until I reclined in the chair in the surgeon’s office, about to lose it entirely. My trepidation was a bit irrational, and wholly vanity-based. Nonetheless, the event was surprisingly traumatic.
They sent me home with some gauze and antibiotics and this clear retainer-type thing that is supposed to make it appear that I have a front tooth. And it does. Sort of. But it also makes it nearly impossible for me to chew.
Down the road in this six-month process, there will be other options for temporary teeth. But for these first few weeks, I can either slurp soup and Jello, or I can remove my retainer and chew real food. Seeing as the surgeon warned me that removing the retainer for too long in the first week might mean that my gums would swell to the point that I wouldn’t be able to reinsert it, I am not inclined to remove the retainer any more than is absolutely necessary. Also, my tooth, or lack thereof, is still sore enough that chewing doesn’t sound like a particularly good time. And I really don’t want to traumatize my children. (Remember: the witch from Snow White.)
So, that leaves me with food fit for babies and the denture-wearing crowd. And there is only so much oatmeal one can stomach. While these limitations might be good for the diet, they are kind of a bummer. Sort of a kick-me-while-I’m-down situation.
Then, day 2 post-surgery, I thought: “Ice cream!” If ever there was a situation where one could eat ice cream for breakfast, this is it. I headed to Festival Foods (Side note: I love Festival. So much.) and went on a serious ice-cream shopping spree. Do you guys even know how many different types of ice cream are out there these days? There are endless possibilities of frozen goodness. And I put many of them in my cart. Granted, I stuck to sorbet, frozen yogurt, and that Halo Top protein-based stuff. But still, ICE CREAM! And, best of all, it all tastes amazingly guilt-free.
It’s not exactly a balanced diet. It’s not a long-term nutrition plan. But for a couple of weeks, it is my silver lining. And I’ll take it.