The OTHER Kind of Implants

I got an implant.  No. Not that kind.  My girls are of ample size, thank you.  Plus, only one implant is a little pointless unless you stand sideways all the time.  My friend, Denise, and I used to joke that we could only afford one surgery between the two of us, so we would each get one side done, and that would be our "show boob".  But I digress.  You should expect nothing less.

Uh oh.  I lost a few of ya there, didn't I? What with all that naughty, boobie talk.  Don't worry.  The rest of this post will be squeaky-clean and somewhat appropriate.  Ish.

My implant was for a tooth.  I have been waiting almost exactly 8 years for it.  When I was preggers with Natalie, one of my close-to-the-front, never-smile-in-public-again teeth broke right off.  It had been a really rough week.  In fact, that day I wrote on Facebook:

"I'm overwhelmed.  In the past 3 weeks I handled the cracked radiator, the broken starter, the crashed dryer, the fried washer, the speeding ticket (I never heard of a Senior Citizen Zone before!), 2-3 doctor or dentist appointments a week since the beginning of December, Ethan's toe surgery complications, gestational diabetes run-amok, a house full of sick people, tests for the mystery "mass" in Tessa's gal bladder, and constant negativity from Kaiser, but tonight when my front tooth broke off I think I may have reached my limit.  I am tryin' real hard to stay positive here, but this is getting old."

BWAAAHAHAHAHA!!!!  Wasn't she cute, that funny, naïve girl that wrote that?!... who, in just five short days, would start crankin' out three foot long blood clots like pancakes on a Saturday morning?  How adorable that she thought a washer, dryer and radiator were things to get upset about.  A broken tooth?  Ha! Child's play, daaaaah'ling.  

Slow-forward 7.92 years, after multitudes of financial, health and covid delays, and here we are, me, with a big lovely hole in my bone, stuffed up all tight with a fine metal screw (that felt quite like it would split my head in half going in).  But wait... have you met me?  Do you know that for some reason x-ray machines break down in my presence?  That not one, not two, but THREE doctors have told me I was "the hardest ____(fill in the blank)____" in their career?  Pleased ta' meet ya' (there's a boob story in there, but I have shocked you quite, yes QUITE enough for one evening.  I'll tell ya later.  Remind me).

Yah, so, "unusual response" were the words used to describe the two weeks of kicked-in-the-face style pain radiating from tooth to nose to cheek to eye socket to temple -and in a southward direction- from tooth through throat and neck from the new implant.  "Most unusual" is how one would lable the abscess that formed on day 14.  Gross is more to the point.  I'll spare you the ewie details.  My family has not been as lucky.  I am a very descriptive girl.

But, as we often say around here, "It's not a blood clot", so it ain't so bad.  Thank the Good Lord above for inspired medicines that I can take (sadly, because there goes my gut biome for a while).  It could be worse.  I'm praying I don't lose the implant.  Yes, we are praying, and it will probably be fine.

Cuz it's not a blood clot.

Ok, so now who wants to hear a boob story...?