This is the third part of a four-part article about my experience with oral surgery. In case you missed the first part and second parts, you can read them first, Dental Death Sentence and The teeth cleaning, chopping, sharpening tools, scary experience.
I thought my appointment will be to take the teeth out and be over with it. Little did I know that it was just a consultation session. I had been told to come with my insurance card, photo identification, and disc with my dental referral. I was checked in at my appointment and when I got on the dental bed, I was made to watch a video about dental surgery. The video showed the patient what to expect during such a complicated procedure. And, it was scary.
When the dental surgeon finally came in, he said, “Well, I need an approval from your insurance to take out one of the teeth. “Arrrggg! Approval?” I thought to myself, “This nightmare is not about to end any time soon.” I asked how long it would take for the insurance to give an approval. He said, “It could take up to three weeks, but the good news is that, that is less than how long the teeth had been there.” Then I asked if I could take my disc back but he said no. I also asked about having my teeth once extracted. He said, “Well, I don’t have problem giving you your teeth but I may not be the one that will do the extraction when you come in, so it depends on the doctor.” I prayed in my head, “God let whoever the doctor is give me my teeth back.”
I went home waiting for a call but nothing happened for another couple of months. Then, I started noticing pains on my neck, my right ear, plus, it seemed like one side of my head was not function well. I felt continuous burning around the teeth and it was just uncomfortable. I took ibuprofen several times a day. At some point, I called the insurance company and I was asked to tell the clinic to send my request in so that it can be expedited. I did. Still, nothing happened for another two months.
While I was complaining to one of my grandmas in church, Annette, she said, “You have to squeak the wheel, so call them and let them know you are in pain.” Well, I kept calling for several days, and at last, I was scheduled to go to the urgent clinic. Grandma Annette and her husband, grandpa Jim took me to the appointment.
Continue with the story soon in part four entitled, The Surgery: Wasn’t as bad as I thought.
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Bye for now, until next time.
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