Night of the Living Gums

So, Saturday I had round two of Cha Cha’s Periodontal Extravaganza.

Four years ago, I had some of my gums patched – a totally disgusting and completely painful surgery that should ensure that my teeth don’t just randomly fall out. Dr. Periodontist, a kind man who is barely taller than my statuesque 5’2″, told me that I needed to have the rest of my problem teeth addressed in about six months.

I don’t know if it was the psychotic devotion to flossing or the shameless flirting with Dr. Periodontist, but I managed to stretch that six months to four years. I had dental insurance. I lost it. And then I got it again. And so, this weekend, I had more tissue from the roof of my mouth grafted over my receding gums.

Because I’m sexy like that.

I’ve been drugged up for the last several days and haven’t exactly, well, left my house or gotten dressed. Who are you to judge?

I’m starting to feel like I might conceivably eat something besides yogurt again in this lifetime. And I’m weening myself off the Vicodin, therefore avoiding pesky rehab. But I was thrown for a loop this morning.

The nurse called to check on me and to make sure that I wouldn’t be skipping out on my follow-up appointment. No problem – I’m still in pain and I’ll be there on Friday. Check.

Then she said, “Dr. Periodontist also wanted you to know that he didn’t want to take two strips of tissue from the roof of your mouth, so he used some a;lfj;asdlfj;s tissue.”

And I’m all, “Gee, what’s a;lfj;asdlfj;s tissue?”

Dude. It’s cadaver tissue.

The nurse was careful to explain that it’s completely safe, it’s freeze-dried and they rehydrate it right in the office (like chicken bouillon?), blah blah blah. And then she mentions that it costs an additional $100.

I had a really hard time not laughing. Ok, so let me get this straight – I have a dead person in my mouth, you didn’t tell me about it until now, and the privilege is costing me an additional $100 beyond what my insurance will cover?

Cool. I’m on Vicodin. I so don’t give a shit.

I told Mr. eHarmony about it and now he totally wants to french kiss me. Turns out he’s really into necrophilia. We are such a great match.

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