Where was Mr Surgeon?

Yesterday was my long-awaited pre-op check-up ‘have you got enough gaps in your mouth?’ appointment at the hospital. I had a slot at 10am, but my first staff contact was at 10:40 with a radiologist, who gleefully informed me that I was only the second person she had ever seen in her many years of service who had such an open bite (of course, I couldn’t bite onto the grips of the X-ray machines). ‘How can you manage?’ ‘Well, I’m 44 and I’ve managed so far…’

Finally I got into the consulting room and – Mr Surgeon was nowhere to be seen! Only his crack team of (all-female) doctors. Oh!

It unnerved me slightly, but they are all very clued-up with my case and got started on me straightaway. I had current casts done as well as some impressions of my bite.

Due to my extremely poor occlusion, when I was supposed to bite down on the wax to make the impression, there were not enough impressions for the surgical team’s liking. We tried twice. After some confabulation, they came at me with a huge gun (looked like the ones you use to squirt the grouting in between the tiles when you are DIYing) and deposited large amounts of silicone in my mouth. Then we waited (me with trepidation, them with small talk abounding) and luckily that seemed to work.

The last step was to measure my skull with a scary-looking metal instrument which poked at me all over my head and measured distances between my ears, nose, forehead and chin. I felt like a specimen in a museum of natural history.

(As it is getting too late, I shall break off tonight and continue tomorrow…)

Picture of the day is ripening blueberries in our garden:


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