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.
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