Day 13

First, the good news: 

Of the 10-12 pounds I put on over the past few years and have been trying to shed, I have lost 4. This is encouraging, and I'm hoping I can continue the trend and get back to my "happy" weight.

Also, every once in a while, for a few minutes at a time, in spite of everything that you're about to read, I can see that it will be possible to "get used to" having braces as everyone has told me I will.

Now for the rest of it:

I've become completely self-involved and preoccupied with my mouth. When I'm not thinking about how to make it feel better, I'm thinking about how not to think about it. The problem is, I'm a worrier. Not in the sense that I worry about things, but in the sense that I worry things. As in Merriam Webster's third definition of the word: "to touch or disturb something repeatedly." I've always known this about myself; I can't leave things alone, like, say, scabs, tender areas, hangnails, unusual bumps. So you can see what might happen with a mouthful of loose teeth and sore spots. As much as I know on an intellectual level that it would be best if I could just let things rest, I can't stop using my lips and tongue to push my teeth back and forth, in and out. Whenever I realize I'm doing it, I stop; next thing I know, I'm doing it again. I don't know how noticeable this behavior is to others, although my partner, Peter, has at least once told me to stop. I'm working on it.

Because I avoid moving my mouth too much and my enunciation is less than flawless, I've been talking less--at home and at work. At least one co-worker has decried my "lack of snark," noticeable because snarky comments, which once came so easily, turn out to be less than essential communication. I do need to be careful not to let my silence convey disinterest or lack of engagement in meetings. I'm sure it's only temporary.

I have now tried almost everything to protect the inside of my mouth from the sharp edges while I sleep, all with different levels of failure--and all of which I accept as my own lack of experience and skill, especially when others make it sound so simple; e.g., "I just used wax."

Wax--epic fail: the places where I most need wax are situated next to the gaps left by my extracted premolars, so even if I get the wax situated securely in the right place (big if), it invariably ends up falling through one of these gaps and into my mouth within minutes.

Gauze: while effective at protecting the insides of my face, it irritates my gums and keeps my mouth from closing. It can also get tangled in the sharp edges it's there to cover, so removing it threatens to pull or break things. And it's gross, but I can deal with that.

Foam tubes (purchased at a fly-fishing shop--seemed like a good idea at the time): failed because there is nothing to hold them over the braces. They ended up slipping high up into my gum area and providing no protection at all.

While I struggle with these options, my mouth is toughening up to protect itself, but it'll be a while before I have actual callouses. Like the callouses developed on my other end during prolonged biking tours, these will no doubt be both off-putting and much welcomed.

Eating remains more of a necessity than a pleasure because my front teeth are too tender to bite efficiently, the molars I still have don't meet for proper chewing (held apart because the braces on my lower incisors hit the back of my upper incisors) and any food with an edge (would you believe cucumbers have edges??) can be tough on the extraction sites.

So how do I feel about it all right now? If I even had the option to reconsider, I'd be 49% inclined to get my premolars back, ditch the metal and be happy with my imperfect but serviceable smile. But that leaves 51% of me that wants to see it through, 51% that is looking forward, like a kid on Christmas morning, to the reveal--the unwrapping of my gift to myself--a perfectly straight row of teeth. It's really going to be something to smile about.

Wired for Love

Good news! Romance is still possible, even with half your face enmeshed in metal. 

At least it is if your other half is as supportive and loving as mine. If he doesn't get tired of my whining and leave me (a distinct possibility as, since I began this experiment, I, who always thought of myself as tough--hey, two huge (sorry, Sara) naturally delivered babies without the help of drugs, right?--I have become unable to deal with this achy-gummed, sore-jawed, cut- lipped, sore-cheeked existence without carping about it regularly, no matter how I try, and I am trying!), I believe his positive outlook and sense of humor is what will help me through the next 23 months or so.

Last night we had an unplanned early Valentine's Day dinner, running through the storm (as the sidewalks were not cleared, we found ourselves out in the road with plows threatening to bury us alive in the snowbanks--perhaps not our brightest plan) to a nearby Italian restaurant where we found ourselves and one other couple the only customers. Biting isn't fun and my molars don't meet so heavy chewing is out. We split a warm, wilted escarole and goat cheese salad which I followed with skinny spaghetti and tender spicy sausage; the perfect choice for my dinner. Pete had wood-smoked scallops on cheesy ravioli. Enio's on Cottage Road--stop by and try it sometimes if you haven't yet!

So, how does it feel four days in? Everything above aside, it is getting better. My gums are getting tougher so they don't throb after I eat. And I'm learning, I guess, how to accept the braces as a part of me. Tooth brushing is interesting--at this point, I would not want anyone to witness that debacle, which includes a lot of drooling and funny-face making, but I'm assuming I'll get better at this also.

I'll be posting at milestones and when I have new experiences worth sharing--visiting Pete's family this weekend promised to be a trove of embarrassing situations but we decided to wait for better weather, so those stories will have to wait, too.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!
Chew the heck out of some dark-chocolate-covered caramels for me! 

The Office

One wired day at work down, about 360 to go.

Today I heard, and appreciated, lots of stories, memories and experiences (including broken jaws, holes in palates and teeth reverting to their former crooked ways) from ortho veterans who went through it all years ago, the right way (that is, when they were kids). For the most part, the stories made me feel better and gave me hope.

Speaking of hope, I hope eating gets a little easier. My tactic to stick to a liquid diet to avoid the risk of having embarrassing bits of lunch lodged in my teeth went pretty well (it's enough to worry if people will take me seriously with my lips stuck on protruding metal and my tongue relearning the ropes--I don't need leftovers adding to the whole effect!). You might think that with eating not being all that enjoyable since my extractions--that's two and a half weeks now--I might lose few pounds, but so far, no luck. Sigh.

Adding extractions to the process has definitely caused more discomfort that I might be having otherwise. It's not uncommon, I know, (and it certainly pales in comparison to broken jaws and palate-separating cranks--ack!) but it does add another layer of trouble. I try to avoid it, but with four vacancies scattered up and down, I can't eat without putting pressure on at least one of those freshly healed spots. 

Another unforeseen side-affect for my cold-sensitive teeth: when walking outside in the frigid air, I need to keep my mouth closed to avoid chilling the metal, which then transfers an unpleasant shock to my enamel. One more reason for tactic two:

Tactic two: (after the liquid diet) is to keep my mouth closed unless absolutely necessary; that means no talking or laughing. That plan is already falling apart since I live and work with such entertaining people, so I don't think I'll be able to keep it up for the whole two years. Besides, what fun would that be?

I'm told that I'll get used to all this and that some days, I'll forget I even have braces. I look forward to that. I know we can get used to anything, so I believe it. People say, "Don't worry, two years will fly by." Well, at my age, I'm not looking for years to fly by--wired up or not! So each day I just hope to get a little better at mastering the art of wearing braces--and soon I hope to carry it off as well as any twelve-year-old kid. 

Day One

I now understand (a fraction of) the indignities that we ask our children to suffer quietly when we decide their teeth will benefit from a course of orthodontic treatment.

After many, many years of wishing for a perfect smile, or at least perfect teeth, I have at last, at the ripe old age of fifty-something, embarked on my own orthodontic journey. A friend suggested I share that journey, so I decided to give it a go. Maybe it will help someone else make their decision. Or maybe I can offer some entertainment at my expense. That would be worth it.

I got off to a rough start. First, I needed four extractions, crowding being the underlying reason for my disorganized bite. My sister did the honors (yes, she is a qualified DDS!). Extractions are routine but one of these was very stubborn and its roots backed up to a nerve, so after much yanking and destruction, the tooth was out, but the socket pained me for the following two weeks. We hedged against infection and watched for signs of dry socket (a painful condition in which bone is exposed) but it turned out neither of these was the case. It was just, simply, very traumatic. The right side of my chin is still numb from temporary nerve involvement. The experts say the feeling should return, but I've heard stories...

The pain eased in time for me to visit the orthodontist just this morning. And so it begins. Before the braces go on, your teeth are polished. This is not the kind of happy, gum-tickling polishing you get at your dentist's office. This polishing involves a rather unpleasant metallic vibration on each tooth--something like drilling without the hole, which, happily, was over quickly. (The teeth right next to my new empty sockets did not appreciate the vibrating at all.)

Then came the first indignity in the form of a lip spreader; a somewhat Medieval-looking contraption that holds the patient's lips out of the way so the professionals can do their work. Along with that, a constant suction was inserted to keep the area dry. With the patient (me) prepared and the assistant and I waiting patiently for the doctor, I decided this was a good time to be sure I was getting the right braces--that is, since the "invisible" ones wouldn't do the job, could I get as close to invisible as possible? (I still harbored the naive hope that I could straighten my teeth as unobtrusively as possible, that is, without anyone noticing.)

"Wiw ay e ear?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, I can't understand you," she replied.

No surprise there. So I decided to wave my hand around while repeating the same thing--because that would help her understand, right?

"Wiw ay e ear?" I asked again, moving my hand.
"Will they be clear? Yes. The ones on top. We don't use clear ones on the bottom though."

Note: hand waving helps.

While I lay with my feet in the air and my head pointed toward the floor and let them do what I--here comes the funny part--had asked them to do, I, not for the first time, wondered if I should have left well enough alone. (The first time was as my sister was working to extract the second of my perfectly healthy premolars--a little late, but definitely an unnerving time to think that maybe I should not have gotten myself into this!)

Once the braces were on, the wires snapped in and my lips closed over the whole mess, it was a relief to be finished, but of course, this journey is just beginning.

The orthodontist's assistant gave me a goody bag full of all kinds of tools to help me keep my teeth clean, which may prove tricky now that they're covered with metal. Flossing looks like it should take only an hour or so--brushing, no problem.

Having gone to the grocery store directly after getting the braces on, I've had my first public appearance and practice talking around the new additions. That part was awkward, but relatively simple, too. I have to remember, no one knows me--as far as they're concerned, I've always looked like the sister of James Bond's metallic-toothed villain, Jaws.

What about eating? My first food would be pudding. No chewing. Easy. Not. Every time I closed my mouth, the inside of my lower lip got stuck in my teeth somehow. And I wasn't even chewing! I also had the feeling that about half the food went down my throat and the other half remained stuck in the metalworks. I can only imagine what an unpleasant sight that would be for anyone I might be eating with. (Update: In a conversation with my niece this evening, who is in her second year of braces, she assures me that, yes, much of what I eat will end up stuck in my grill. Awesome.)

Well, that's day one. Braces are now a part of my life for the next 24 months. Unobtrusive? Not at all. But I do look forward to the final result.