Caroline O’Donoghue: Ten traumatic features of oral surgery
If you picked up this column a few weeks ago, you might remember that I was in the middle of a lengthy tooth implant process and bragging about how sexy I thought having no front tooth made me. Since then, I have been punished by the gods for my vanity. That’s right, Narcissus has stared into the reflecting pool too long.
On Tuesday, I had bone graft surgery on the front of my mouth, meaning I now have a row of stitches that begins at my (remaining) front teeth and stretches all the way under my lip and up to my nose. This surgery was apparently necessary because the bone above my affected tooth has rotted away like beams on an old house, and in order for the dentists to be able to insert a titanium screw in there, the bone needs to be stronger.
