It's finally been five days since Dr. Beaty ripped those awkwardly-placed wisdom teeth from my mouth. Already I've broken at least three rules - the ones about not drinking alcohol, chewing soft foods and smoking. The bleeding has stopped and I don't feel great amounts of pain, so it doesn't seem like I have "dry socket."
But the wounds are still fresh. And who would've thought that a mere kernel of pop corn could become such a pain in the ass?
Last night, hanging out with some friends at the Waterfront in San Diego, I tossed down a few kernels smothered in Tabasco sauce, along with a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale (which is either a great or terrible thing to mix with Vicodin, depending on who you ask). Inevitably, a few hours later, my tongue started exploring those weirdly-shaped, soft, sensitive gashes in the back of my mouth. After a few moments, the tongue made out a sharp texture. I concluded that it was a tiny, unpopped piece of detritus from my bar snack.
So far, I've tried prescription mouth-wash, a plastic syringe and about a yard of dental floss. But nothing has rid my gums of that damn little piece. I try to get by, but to know that a piece of food is just hanging out in my mouth can be unnerving.
Thankfully, I've got a check up on Wednesday. Ideally, the trained dentists will do their magic and I will walk away feeling a bit more secure about the future of my mouth. That, or a pop corn kernel will be embedded in my gums forever. We'll see...
