dental mentals
last week i bit the bullet and had the last of my teeth pulled and started wearing an upper denture. i am now, officially, a toothless, old hag and the owner of teeth fit for hollywood. the hollywood smile remains a works in progress. girl howdy, it hurts to smile. it hurts even more to talk.
the physics of speech are radically different with a mouth full of plastic. the challenge of being understood has me reliving the speech therapy which helped me make that adolescant leap from stutterer to mutterer. i think. maybe. memories from that period in the mid 60's where i made the academic transition from "retarded" to "gifted" remain shrouded in amnesiac repression. it is getting easier to let those memories flow, but they remain chaotically mixed with the family drama, far flung trauma and childish perspectives. i mistrust the accuracy of what i am remembering. the pieces i am fishing for in these flashbacks are 1) pain management and 2) speech therapy. accuracy is irrelevant to both fishing expeditions. pain, coping and healing donae are all moving targets which donae measure well enough for accuracy.
is it good news that the lower denture i have yet to find a comfort zone for makes more sense with the matching upper denture? it is still miserable, but at least the misery is balanced by its upper counterpart. i acquired the lower denture in 2012, along with two mini-implants to stabilize that continual lower jaw motion which makes lower dentures such a misery. the system worked for a while, but somewhere along my river wanders, the implants loosened and became downright scary. by the old man's funeral in 2016, i knew another drawn-out, tedious round in the dental offices was the only fix. as i took flight on the funeral pilgramage for my brother and mother in early 2017, appearances didn't mean too much to me and it was easier to eat without the denture complications. by my son's funeral in october, 2019, i had ceased wearing the lower denture, altogether. those who matter don't mind and those who mind don't matter.
for now, the progress of this transition is on the "not worse" measure. the pain is ever present and ever shifting. all i worry is that it isnae any worse than it was yesterday. steady as she goes through the stormy sees, cap'n.
on the expectations scale, i be way ahead of what i was dreading back in 2016 when i first started procrastinating on taking action. i studied ignorance of the details, but my siblings, etc., needed months to complete the extractions and heal far enough to be fitted for dentures at far younger ages than my current 67 years. last thursday, my last 7 teeth came out in a single visit and the denture was placed immediately after the extraction to serve as a bandaid over the wounds. i returned to the office the following morning so that the dentist could do the first denture removal, himself. so far, so good. i have kept the wounds covered 23 hours a day in the days hence. it still hurts like a father fuck, but it isnae worse.
onward through the fog. . .
today i leave the mood icon squarely on "okay." sometimes life just hurts, but i believe i am holding steady, pain and all.
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and the chin picking continues. . . it is on the verge of becoming a running joke here on my little ship of fools. neither rain nor snow nor the dead of night can interrupt the important chin picking. i can pick while i walk, talk or chew. i'm as picky as the chickens are pecky.
the latest burst out of the ocd theme, "i'll straighten this shit out yet," is the office closet. after the big bedroom shuffle however long ago, baby sis's old bedroom sat deliciously empty for months. oh, how i adore empty spaces. . . in the first weeks of converting it to an office, i congratulated myself for having pulled it off with a few empty spaces for growth. alas, it didnae grow. . .it boomed faster than a 20th century urban sprawl. we now have stacks upon stacks and barely enough open space for one person.
i'll straighten this shit out yet. . .
over the past 3 days i have implemented the images of the modular shelving which floated out of my important chin picking. the office closet is still overfull but at least you can access everything. so far. . . the long wall of the closet holds empty shelves. the inside of the closet door now holds a set of peg boards to accommodate the tech chords and doodads. no shopping required for this project. most of the project pieces were repurposed from the urban homestead. the strays and stragglers were cannibalized from other modular shelf sets here on the farm.
it feels like the rearranging binge is going to continue for a while. a kaleidoscope of other disorganized spots in the house is floating out of my important chin picking. has it only been 3 years since we moved in here? the amount of clutter we have acquired suggests longer.
i'm still straddling the proverbial fence on whether the physical end of the chin picking is a regression to self-mutilation or whether i am actually straightening this shit out. the portions of my chin which have untangled look like extremely health skin. am i noticing a softening of the weathered wrinkles on my outdoorsy face?
however, the parts which have yet to detangle suggest i am turning my chin into hamburger meat.
sigh. . . insanity or genius? ? ?
and the picking continues. i amnae certain when the picking shifted from my chin to my left cheek, but the shift is far enough past that i found myself surprised by the reminder that this twisted tangle first erupted on the line corresponding to the bottom of my dentures a few months after i began wearing them again. the full bottom dentures make much more sense with a matched on top, but it remains a challenge to learn how to eat with my mouth full. the matched set of dentures continues growing more comfortable on the inside of my mouth while the unsightly discomfort of the eruptions continues with little change other than position. the shifts in position remain so subtle and consistent that it took reminding from this journal entry to be aware that they had moved. yes, i **knew** but i hadnae gotten around to noticing this morning.
whatever the physics of this 15(?) month ordeal, the psychosomatic ponderings have nary a doubt that my OCD is at play here. if there be a physical explanation for the eruptions and i am indeed "untangling" facial cysts, the remediation wouldnae have been possible without the extreme focus of my clinical OCD.
on the psychosomatic ponderings the cobbling of this little ship of fools and the healing of the five damaged crew members it the paramount theme. the fourth anniversary of the protective custody shift is nigh. the custody shift took place on my 65th birthday. could i ask for a more easily remembered date? i be risking the sin of pride to note how far we have come. as our new home and family is losing the novelty and drifting toward the contempt of familiarity, it is a happy home and all family members appear to be thriving individually as we each work through the challenges of participating in life.
there has been an offer on the toxic mom throne. will the sale of the real estate bring closure to the still infected ache of the middle aged man whose relationship with me hasnae developed much since he first started attacking me in junior high school? no, the sale of that property doesnae bring closure to my relations with my estranged son. methinks i will feel those unresolved heartaches to the end. prayers for healing continue. hope healing happens here.
the closure i feel is between my first parenting career with my two sons and the second parenting career with my three grandchildren. the facts of that first parenting career are becoming far easier to talk about between hubs and i. it be far easier to learn from our mistakes if we are free and comfortable to discuss them openly.