Goodie, Goodie, My Gum Dropped?

It was no surprise when my dentist sent me to a periodontist for intervention on a receding gum line. After years of “watching it” my lower front tooth stood alone, no gum tissue remaining. When I smiled, a close friend took two steps back and put her hand to her mouth. Okay, okay. It looks like a fang. I’ll go.

To his credit, the oral surgeon allowed me to make the decision—after what he told me I had no choice if I wanted to keep the tooth, which quite frankly I debated now that I live in the woods of Montana. Lots of folks here are missing a tooth or three.

“How did this happen when I take such good care of my oral hygiene?” I asked incredulously since I haven’t missed a day of the recommended two minutes with my electric toothbrush. I work those miniature bottlebrushes and the rubber gum massagers between my teeth daily. Floss is my religion.

“Things just happen,” he said.

“It could be hormonal changes that come with—you know—aging,” added the nurse, thank you very much.

I begrudgingly agreed to undergo a gum graft, where tissue is sliced from the palate and grafted onto the area of recession. He said he didn’t want to “create a crisis in your life.” Crisis? I refused to turn this into a big deal. I’d forsake anesthesia (who needs those aftereffects?), opt for Novocain, and wouldn’t even have to hear the whirring of the drill!

It’s nothing more than a grown-up dental appointment, I told myself as the surgeon insisted I see the video despite my reluctance. I have finally found a lab technician who will let me lie in the Barcalounger to have blood drawn so I won’t faint.

“There’s no blood—it’s animated,” he reassured when I balked.

Sure enough it was like the Disney version, as if Dr. Donald Duck were performing the surgery with Colorforms. A neat vinyl flap lifts from the roof of the mouth to reveal a pretty pink rectangle that glides onto the gum and sticks like magic. A tidy triangle on each side clings to it while a colorful “X” (code for “stitches”) appears, then using time- lapse photography the pyramids grow across the new tissue and voila! Brand new gum!

“It only takes an hour, and you won’t feel a thing,” the nurse informed me. “It’s the recovery that’s annoying, when you can only eat soft food. No straws, no sucking something from between your teeth, no pressure in your mouth.” No biggie. Wine and chocolate pudding are soft!

Now I am post-surgery, and I have a few observations for the record. The procedure was a piece of cake…and I would kill for one right now. The palate guard that protects “the donor site,” a term that makes me feel like I’m being cloned, together with the putty cover that shields the gum graft ensure that any underhanded attempt at chewing be thwarted.

After twelve days (two more to go before the stitches are removed) I pray on bended knee that I be allowed a morsel of solid food. I am wondering if in the interest of flavor other than fruit, broth, or yogurt (a moot point since the prescribed antimicrobial rinse makes everything taste like Reynolds Wrap) I can throw a steak into this Vita Mix blender. Remember the good old days of Saturday Night Live and Bill Murray’s demo with the Bass-O-Matic?

When I sneeze (thank God I don’t suffer from allergies so at least it’s not very often) I have to open my mouth and scream it…while simultaneously grabbing my crotch like a rapper so I don't leak. Nice. Over the past few days I’ve learned to warn my husband when I feel one coming. “Release the CRACKEN!” I announce, because the sound I am about to emit is tantamount to its monstrous roar.

I ventured onto the Internet to discover healing remedies (I didn’t dare walk down this road before surgery lest I see what I was afraid I might see). On screen was a still photograph of ugly recession (no viewing problem here since that was me everyday in the mirror) turned into an unstoppable X-rated (for violence) slide show. Before I could get off the page, photo number two assaulted me--a blood bath featuring an eel-like slab of tissue being inserted into a sliced gum line. What happened to the Colorforms?

I am told that in the end it will be worth it. I may never submit to the knife for a breast enhancement or an eyelift, but when I smile, stand back. I’ve got drop dead gorgeous gums.