Be glad there aren't pictures

It seems unfair of me not to update after mentioning I was getting a gum graft (ah, sorry, subepithelial connective tissue graft), but as it turns out, my AC adapter for my laptop broke the day of my surgery. So I wasn't even left with the internet to help me through my pain.

And pain there was, along with much disgust. The procedure involved scraping down my gums into a huge flap, which I could feel against the side of my mouth. As it was hanging down. Yeah. Revolting.

The surgery went well, though, I guess; I had a little flower of brilliant purple on the inside of my lip, and even the outside of my chin turned a little grey, but I wasn't too concerned. My periodontist had warned me this often happens, especially in small women.

When I went to my check-up today, however, I was told that I had to come back to get my gums trimmed.

Oh.

Gross.

These are not fingernails, people. Nor hedges.

Not only that, but since it hurt so long for me, especially in the mornings, my periodontist thinks I must clench my teeth in my sleep.

Goodie.

In which I ask silly questions and get my mouth cut open

At around 8:45 this morning, I got a pleasant surprise: the periodontist, who just two days earlier had no openings before September, could see me this afternoon at 3pm for a consultation. Yes!

I was thrilled, since my dentist's previously vague mentions of "you might consider a gum graft in the future" had recently turned into more sinister warnings such as "you should definitely get this done before you leave for France, as you only have 1mm left of gum tissue on this tooth."

I scrambled to get my insurance information in order before leaving for work, and left with plenty of time to fill out the requisite paperwork. I arrived, handed over my X-rays and exchanged them for a standard (if dental-oriented) questionnaire.

Filling it out went smoothly, but one question made me pause: Have you ever had periodontal treatment?

What all is encompassed in periodontics, anyway? I had had my wisdom teeth removed, and wasn't sure if I ought to mention that. I decided to ask at the counter.

"Does getting your wisdom teeth out count as periodontal treatment?" I asked.

"Oh, no," replied the receptionist, "that's oral surgery."

The two were apparently entirely separate fields, and here I had conflated them the entire time! I guess anyone who cuts open my mouth falls into the same category for me.

"So....what's someone called who preforms oral surgery?"

The receptionist stared at me like I was from another planet.

"Excuse me?"

"You know...instead of periodontist."

"Oh," she said, still looking a little put off. "Nothing, just an oral surgeon."

This exchange made me wonder--have a reached an age where it's unacceptable for me to ask questions? Children's curiosity is indulged, and asking questions is even encouraged, but when an adult shows a desire to learn more about a situation or process, it is frowned upon. Why is that? Perhaps it is seen as showing weakness, but it is foolish to think that we've learned everything there is to know about life, even everyday life, by the time we're in our 20's. It's certainly a shame. I am going to make a concerted effort not to disparage others' questions in the future.

Comment dit-on << sigh of relief >> ?

Great news: my Visa came today, after only a one-week wait as opposed to the predicted two! At this rate, the French are shaping up to be as efficient as the Germans!

Today is also, incidentally, the one-year anniversary of my departure from Germany and arrival in Italy. It doesn't feel like that long ago that I was riding through the Swiss Alps, alternately guilting my fellow passengers into helping me with my bags and haphazardly tossing them down the train steps at every transfer. Not to mention accidentally packing my room key in Tübingen, which caused quite a furor as I was attempting to check out; I then had my first experience with the Poste Italiane when I mailed it back to the Hausmeister. Then when I arrived in Parma, I feared myself to be utterly incapable of leaving (or at least locking) my apartment, as I was apparently lacking the magic Italian touch to manipulate the old-school, pronged key...I could struggle with it until my hand hurt without effect, while my advisor could make it pop open with a simple turn of his wrist.

Yes, July 31, 2008, was surely an eventful day. I look forward to more of them!