"The Ordeal"

I have bad teeth. That is no secret. And I'm not really one of those people who never talks about it. No one will ever say about me, "Oh wow! I had no idea that Crissy had bad teeth." I whine about them too much. What can I say? I'm a whiner. From waayyyyy back.

Monday I went to get the impressions for three crowns made. One of those is an implant. My first and hopefully last one. Me no likee. And they're too expensive. So, long story short, there was a new-ish hygienist who apparently is not 'for' suctioning. I lay there drowning until I couldn't take it any more. I swallowed. Which, it turns out, was a bad thing to do.

The drill cut into the soft floor of my mouth, right under and connected to my tongue. It bled. He cauterized it with silver nitrate and then put some stitches in it. After that, hygienist-lady (who incidentally will never work on me again) broke my temporary bridge, couldn't make another one and sprayed me in the face twice with water. By the time I left, my dentist had apologized countless times and my face was already swelling.

I was seriously trying not to cry. I was in pain, and it had scared me. When I walked into the waiting room, my father-in-law was there for his appointment. When he saw me, he reached out to me and I started to cry. He patted me on the back and asked silently if I was okay. I nodded, got my self together and drove home.

By Monday night, I couldn't swallow and my mouth was in hell. Tuesday, same thing. I couldn't move my tongue, couldn't talk, couldn't eat and spent a lot of time pacing and counting to control the pain.

My sister came up two days straight and schooled the kids, tidied the house and cooked supper. My kids got really good at charades. My friends brought me food and sent me sweet notes on facebook.

Today almost 4 days later, the swelling is finally going down and I can whisper. I have learned to drink my pureed food and be thankful for it. I can swallow a lot more easily.

But now I've realized that my tongue is numb in places. And there is a huge goiter-looking thing under my chin. I'm afraid that the drill got to my sublingual gland and maybe some nerves. I'm having trouble talking. It sounds like I've had a stroke. So I'm sitting here, in bed, blogging my fears and worries.

I know that God is good and his meticulous providence is perfect. I know that I am thankful for his provision in all things. I also think that it helps to just speak it. To remember it. To share it. No matter the end result.