My Bloody Tooth Socket

My Bloody Tooth Socket

(TW: If you’re sensitive to blood this blog post is not for you).

I’m not sure how much I contributed to my chronic tooth loss over the past number of years. I’ve always brushed—maybe not always flossed though --until later in life.

My dad died with all his teeth intact and never one cavity.  Shouldn’t I have inherited that mouth?

My mother lost some teeth to her love of crunchy Mary Janes, M &M’s and later when she moved to California, Sees candy. But only a few teeth.

 After she died, my dad was surprised to see another box of candy arrive for her.  The mail still comes after a person is deceased, always unsettling. The candy made sense though. She never wanted to go without.

I must admit I have been a candy lover, unwrapping too many plastic wrappers (earth destroying) over my now pretty long life (73 this year). But I’ve had long stretches of “being good” and lately, I’m near perfect. My husband doles out one small piece of chocolate every day which I ask him to do, but I brush my teeth right after. The sugar addiction seems to be diminishing with age.

After losing a lot of upper teeth—I have a “partial” and feel like a chronic teen with a bite plate—and after losing a number of “lower teeth” in the back of each side—my ship came in—not a ship I wanted. My bottom middle tooth could not be saved. Too little too late.  Too much bone loss, finally for the poor little guy.

My fantastic periodontist kept bemoaning, “I wish I had worked on you twenty years ago.” She could have saved my teeth! But then again, with kids in college and regular bills, I’m not sure I could have come up with the money. That is the plight of most people in the world. If Bernie had gotten in, he promised dental care for all. But he didn’t get in—and might have still been blocked by Manchin who I guess has enough money from his investments in fossil fuels to fix his teeth.

So, my little sweet tooth was pulled—carefully by my great dentist—so as not to create a domino effect of the teeth next to it (which may happen and in the end dentures might be the way to go).  I saved it in a little special case.  Maybe I should get a tiny piece of satin so it can be “laid to rest” in style. It will be used to have the right color (slightly yellowed at this point in my life) for the partial.

I was healing perfectly—after ten days-- until one night, just after Jeopardy, and I was thrilled to get the final clue of archipelago--I said to Jim, “I think I’m bleeding in my mouth.” I went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and my bottom teeth were covered in pools of blood. Ironically, Jim had just lost a top front tooth that day and had a roll of gauze that he didn’t need. I placed the gauze in my mouth, bit down for a long time and prayed. I kept bleeding, sometimes profusely, sometimes not, and decided to go to bed. About an hour later, I woke up to feeling trickles of liquid in my mouth and got up and looked in the mirror. Blood, again.

 I didn’t want to disturb Jim, or ruin the sheets and pillow case—Jim also, supposedly the real patient with the extraction that day-- needed his beauty rest.

I went into the T.V. room and sat on the couch, using one gauze pad after another, sometimes completely soaked in blood, sometimes just trickles. One time I got up to look at my mouth in the mirror and saw clots of blood covering my lower teeth. Like a modern woman, I googled. The clots could be “liver clots” I saw—unusual but happens. Some sites said, go to the doctor immediately. I imagined needing a transfusion—but with Covid and all kinds of viruses, the last thing I wanted was someone else’s blood if I could avoid it.

I had just joined a mindfulness class and decided to do an “up body scan” trying to relax all my muscles. I was relaxed but still bleeding. Two hours had gone by. It was now 1 a.m. I was determined not to wake Jim, but I started thinking of Option B—a visit to urgent care at Kaiser. I had both my dentist and periodontist’s phone numbers but was determined, again, to wait until at least 7:15 to get in touch. Unless I was passing out, I didn’t want to take advantage of their generosity on a Saturday.

The clock kept ticking (actually not ticking but showing up on my Iphone).  I was trying to sleep sitting up as I googled lying down is bad. I ran out of gauze pads and was now using toilet paper (a mistake as I found out from the dentist as the fibers could stick in the socket). I was in no pain, though, and happy as I had googled “dry socket” and that causes lots of pain. One thing I could check off my list. Google isn’t always bad for the brain. I found out something good.

At 3 a.m. I was still bleeding—sometimes trickles and other times the toilet paper was soaked in blood. I was getting worried. How much blood was this really that I lost? I took my blood pressure, normally very low and it was 131/112 (usually 96/70). But if I was losing blood it would be low. Just nerves I thought.

I did a 15 minute breathing meditation (again learned in my mindfulfulness class—thank you Jon Kabat Zinn) and thought there are just four hours until 7 a.m.

Then, miraculously—like the red sea parting for the Israelites—the bleeding stopped. Possibly completely stopped. I waited, put in another square of TP and low and behold—no blood. Another 30 minutes and still no blood. Perhaps I was cured!

My husband then got up, our little white bichon, Ella, up too and now following him down the long hallway. My tribe was with me, and I was not bleeding.

At 7:15 I texted my dentist and texted my periodontist. Both so sweetly got back to me right away. Jim took a picture of my “socket” which I sent. My dentist called –“I just woke up”—he said  but proceeded to calm me down. “Nothing to worry about.” I probably opened it up somehow with food or a toothbrush bristle. I mentioned the “liver clots” which he didn’t say anything about. I think I was googling too much.

It wouldn’t bleed again, he said, as long as I was careful. My periodontist asked me about fish oil supplements which could cause bleeding and again reassured me. She said I could put a black tea bag on the area if it started again. I had already googled that and had already done that (maybe that’s why it stopped—the tannic acid cure)!

A new day was dawning. I had been up all night by myself, bleeding from my mouth and dealt with all of it, meditation and all.

 My tooth was still gone and still in its little box—about to be satin-lined-- and there might be more to come (before the denture decision) but all was well. I took a deep breath and made myself a cup of coffee (only drink cool liquids my dentist said—so I poured in a lot of milk and let it cool off). The bloody gauze and tissue filled up the whole wastebasket in the front bathroom—not a pretty site unless you’re a vampire—so I dumped it into the garbage, so I wouldn’t look at the evidence. My tooth was still gone and soon I’ll have a mold made and another “bite plate” on the bottom. “People are outliving their teeth” my dentist said. I chalked that up to “lucky to still be alive and well.”