Chronicles of My-Mouthia

Have you ever had that feeling in the pit of your stomach? You know, the one right before your boyfriend breaks up with you, or right after you see the red and blue lights flashing in your rear-view mirror? That is the feeling I had when my doctor told me I would need jaw surgery. Well, actually, let's go back. Way back, to the beginning of my mouth issues.

I'm ten, and I think braces are the coolest thing since the Nintendo 64. The day I get them on, I stare at my teeth in the mirror for at least an hour straight. They are currently blue, my favorite color, but when Halloween comes around, I'm changing to black and orange. Christmas, red and green. The orthodontist tells me that I will be wearing them for a few years, because my teeth are extremely crooked. They actually resembled a forrest of trees after a tornado -- overlapping, twisting, leaning into each other for support. I can't wait to see how he's going to fix all that. 

After 5 years of expanders, rubber bands, countless tooth extractions, tooth shaving and about 1352 orthodontist appointments, the braces come off. The feeling of running my tongue across my smooth teeth is weirdly addictive, and I can't stop smiling. Shit, I look good! 

My 15 year old self

I praise the Lord that my metal mouth days are over, and continue along in my happy little life.

Three years later, my teeth are crooked. My orthodontist is pissed. I didn't do a very good job of wearing my retainer. I tell him my dog ate it. Really, she did. The braces go back on for another six months. When they come off, my teeth still don't quite match up. My orthodontist tells me it's because I have a rare disease that's something like arthritis in my jaw joints. He tells me that my hormones are eating away at the joints (and consequentially, EVERY joint in my body) and that by the time I'm 30, I won't even have a functioning mouth. I tell him that my dream is to be a professional musician, a drummer. That requires use of my joints. He tells me that I should choose another career, because this disease (which is supposedly so rare and newly discovered that it is not named...) will make that dream impossible. I am devastated. I mope around for a while, feeling trapped and helpless and fearing that I may someday look like a chinless worm. 

After wallowing in self pity for about a year, I become skeptical. There is no pain present in any joint in my body, including my jaw. I talk to an oral surgeon, and he points out tiny ridges on my front top and bottom teeth, suggesting that my teeth never touched right, because normally the ridges get smoothed by the friction between teeth while chewing. He also suggests that maybe my orthodontist had never actually straightened my teeth, but settled for just trying to make them look straight, ignoring functionality and my actual jaw line. He tests my joints and takes x-rays, and then states that he does not believe that I have any type of degenerative joint disease, just an combination of overbite and open bite. I get a second, third, and fourth opinion. They all agree. I do not, in fact, have life altering arthritis in my face. Or anywhere. They all also agree that my bite could have easily been corrected by orthodontics during the first 5 years of braces. My initial response is anger. Very severe, Hulk-like anger. How could these "doctors" charge us thousands of dollars and years of time to not do their job right? And then fabricate some serious disease to cover their own asses? "Well, now we know why you could never bite into an apple. And why it takes you 5 years to finish a meal," my mother says on the way out of one of the oral surgeons' offices. It seems like getting the surgery is my only option to fixed what has been neglected for years.

So, the day before I turn 21, I get braces. Again. If you're counting, this is the third time, the 6th year. Luckily, alcohol doesn't require any chewing, so I still celebrate. Walking into the bar with a mouthful of metal wasn't exactly how I'd pictured my 21st birthday, but my friends momentarily convince me that you can barely tell. One drunken frat boy tries to console me by saying, "You know, you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen with braces." Thank you. Thank you so much for that. I'm glad I beat out all the fierce competition.

 I have braces for the duration of my junior year, and although I try to tell myself that I am a strong woman, tough and resilient, I soon find that I am an insecure sissy. I find myself constantly hiding my smile with my hand, complaining about how stupid I look and feel, and telling my boyfriend that I will not kiss him until the braces come off. I bathe in my own self deprecating pity party for about a semester before I realize that I'm being an idiot. There's nothing I can do to change it, so I have to deal.

Throughout this past year, I had to have two minor surgeries preparing me for the big one. I had a gum graft that spanned across my 7 bottom front teeth, and then a frenectomy in the same spot. Apparently these surgeries were necessary because my gums were almost non-existent in that area. This was due to the fact that my lower jaw is too small to house all the teeth, so they push on my gums constantly. Too many teeth at the gum party. The gum graft was horrendous, but effective, and the frenectomy was a piece of cake.  

I turned 22 last week. The day before my birthday, I had one last orthodontist appointment before the surgery (new orthodontist, by the way). About 2 teeth touch in my entire mouth now, as he has moved them to line up with my actual jaw line. I can literally stick my tongue out with my teeth as closed as they can be. 

See?

So, in two weeks I get the surgery. Here's the deal:

They will be advancing my lower jaw (or mandible, in fancy doctor speak) about 5 mm and moving it to the left 1.5mm. In the end, I will have 4 metal plates bolted into my jaw. Fun fun! After a 23 (yes, exactly 23) hour stay in the hospital, I will be stuck in my bed drinking a liquid diet for about 3-4 weeks. The nurse suggested delicious blender recipes for drinks entitled "Bacon and Eggs Shake" and "Meatloaf Smoothie." Then "soft food" (pasta, scrambled eggs, etc.) for another 2 weeks, after which  I'll hopefully be free to eat whatever I want. I won't be wired shut, instead I will have one "training" rubber band on each side connecting top to bottom for the first 3-4 weeks. I will be blogging through it all, so I'm sure as the pain medication comes into play, my posts will get dramatically more interesting. 

Now that you know my mouth's life story, I think I'll go to bed. More soon.