A most innocent beginning… I went in this noon to get my teeth cleaned. Virtue! Yes, taking good care of all the parts. Indeed, the dentist said that I had no tartar at all. My gums bleed easily these days but this is normal in pregnancy. Should have been a routine half hour and then on with the day. But no.
A thing few know about me: loose ligaments. I’ve always had them. And throughout my life I’ve run into trouble with them off and on. There’s my lucky toe, dislocated so many times that the joint is chewed to shreds. There’s the time I ripped my right ankle and was on crutches for a month, and still feeling it for at least a year. And then, TMJ, a problem of the jaw joint that really got nettlesome back around 1995-98. An aunt of mine with a medical background mentioned one time that, when I was a small child, she noticed my loose joints and worried for me. One time I had a Pilates teacher comment on it. He cautioned me, in effect, never to run. “Your bones would just jangle around and you could really get hurt,” he said. “Walk, swim, whatever, but seriously, avoid impact.” Another thing, pregnancy loosens everyone’s joints. Even normal people get loose ligaments at this time; it’s natural and makes sense in terms of preparing for birth. But I guess for me with my already loose joints, this was a double whammy.
So there I was minding my own business, getting my teeth cleaned. Ben an hour and a half away at work; Isaac (thankfully) in the care of his grandparents for the day. All was seemingly fine until the dentist was done with part of my cleaning and I realized that my jaw was stuck– open. WAY WAY open. Stuck– VERY VERY STUCK. Like a dislocated shoulder. The ball of the right jaw joint had rolled out of its socket and behind it and there it sat. I couldn’t close it to save my life. Didn’t feel too great like that either, although not excruciating. But uncomfortable. You could say that. My dentist tried to maneuver it a few times. Then said, “You need an oral surgeon. I’ll get the on the phone and see if I can get you in some place.”
Perhaps my mind was working slowly, but what he seemed to be saying was that it was REALLY TRULY 100% stuck, he REALLY TRULY couldn’t fix it, and I would have to now drive myself to parts unknown to find someone who could. I sat there, mouth agape, processing this. Naturally I tried to close it, tried and tried, but it was like an invisible forcefield held it open. Like my teeth were magnets repelling each other, I just couldn’t get it to close. Also, trying hurt.
The dentist called several people. The assistant called four more. No one could see me right now. They were all on vacation or… whatever. Bottom line: The dentist said I had to go to the ER. “They’ll have an oral surgeon there and will be able to fix you up.” Thinking about logistics I said, “Will they put me under?” (Because then I would need a ride home.) But when I said this, I didn’t say it nice and normal. I said it like a drunk person who has had a massive stroke. Please note that my mouth would shut normally on the left side, while the right side stayed propped open by about at least an inch in my way back teeth and much more up front. Even closing my lips to swallow was a serious challenge. He replied, “No, I don’t think so. They might give you a little valium. It’s in a hard muscle spasm right now and so they will probably need some kind of relaxant to move the bones.”
Also, the thought of blinding pain crossed my mind. I know that back in the day when my toe joint was functioning normally, and I dislocated it (a frequent occurrence in my crazy college days) the ER doctors always had to numb it up before repositioning it. “Or else you would faint,” they would say, cheerfully.
So I got in the car, mouth hanging open, and began to drive to Metro, the nearest ER. If you’re from Cleveland you’ll recognize that this is a huge and very inner city hospital. I’d never been there before and had no idea where the ER even was. Also, en route, the car began to make itself very clear that it was almost out of gas. So convenient! I was driving Ben’s car for the day, hopped into it slightly late for my dentist appt and found it on empty. But, hey, it’s a Prius, so I figured it just needs a drop or two to get there and then I’ll fill it up right out of the gate. I did make it to the dentist no problem, although it was beeping and telling me in both English and French to add fuel. However, with my jaw locked open it seemed a lot more ominous. Running out of gas like this… ugh. So in this rather miserable (uncomfortable and also … dare I say embarrassing???) condition I stopped and filled the tank. Standing there at the pump unable to close my mouth is in the top two moments competing for nadir of this experience.
I called Ben and couldn’t help but terrify him. I sounded like the Elephant Man. I tried to make “It’s NOT the baby,” my first sentence, but still it wasn’t soon enough. The nano second that he thought I was in labor irritated him all day. “Why do you have to scare me like that?” he complained. “I hate it when you call me up sobbing.” But I WASN’T sobbing. Well, a little upset, sure, but the real problem was that I couldn’t SPEAK normally due to obvious reasons! (A video phone would have been a great boon.)
At the hospital, they very helpfully had a valet parking option at the ER door. $5 up front. Guess who had no cash???? The moral of this story is ALWAYS have your gas tank at least a quarter full. ALWAYS carry at least some cash. Just a fiver would have made this whole ordeal a lot more pleasant. So that meant I had to drive all over the place, through hill and dale, to find a parking place. Then walk a seemingly great distance in my doubly delicate condition.
I stood in line briefly at the ER desk, being talked to by an insane old woman all the while. I explained my situation to the receptionist using slurred words and hand gestures. “I’m pregnant” [hands forming shape of huge belly] “My jaw is dislocated. I need an oral surgeon.” She understood quickly and took away my ID and insurance cards. (Later, when I saw myself in the mirror, I understood that this situation spoke for itself.)
“How far along?” she asked.
“26 weeks,” I said, flashing 2-6 with my fingers.
She went away again. She came back. “You have to go up to Labor and Delivery.”
“But,” I protested. “It’s my jaw. The baby’s fine.”
“I’m sorry– that’s what the triage nurse says.”
She gave me directions through the labyrinth, up and down dark corridors to a far away elevator marked “C.” I made the trek after a while, feeling quite taxed.
At Labor and Delivery, they had no clue as to what to do with me. People were paged, calls made, and still. I fell through all the cracks. I was not a Metro patient. That threw them in the first place… I had to explain repeatedly that my dentist sent me to the ER and this is the nearest ER, and that the ER had sent me up here DESPITE the obvious non-pregnancy-related nature of my case. I was not having a pregnancy problem. So… WHY are you here again?? (I mean, I realize I’m pregnant, but if I came in with a broken leg would they send me to labor and delivery? Apparently yes.) They put me in a little room to wait. Not a regular waiting room, it would seem. More of a storage room. With junk. And boxes. And chairs all higgly-piggly as if shoved in there to get out of the way, rather than actually placed there for pregnant ladies to sit upon. (Along with the gas pump, my wait in that room is tied for nadir.)
I waited.
My jaw throbbed.
I read a tattered old copy of Parenting magazine.
I went to the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror. You could plainly see that a large bone was bulging out the side of my face and that one cheek was bright red. Deformed looking. Bizarre. Kind of almost nauseating to look at, like.. well, exactly like looking at a broken arm or a knee bending the wrong way.
I noticed that it was now 2:00 and I had not eaten since about 8 a.m. Nor had much to drink. So big deal, right? Well… I was getting dizzy. Pregnant ladies need food regularly. (Why had I not eaten BEFORE the dentist? I had another appt in the morning, came home after it and fell sound asleep, then got up just in time to get there. Figured I would eat first thing afterwards. Right after filling the gas tank.) Low blood sugar makes us dizzy, and can even make us faint flat out. I kept waiting. Waiting. I think I had been in that little room close to an hour and half when I heard some progress in the hall. Fragments like, “No NSAIDS, No Benzos… just shield the belly! Shield the belly!” seemed to be an OB on the phone explaining to the oral surgery people how to handle me. (Shield it from x-rays I guess…?) Finally a young resident popped her head and said she would take me to oral surgery.
Thank god she escorted me– I never would have found my way there in a million years. More obscure elevators and long abandoned corridors. Especially with the combined effects of hunger, thirst, and now… okay, the “discomfort” was moving right along to pain. Having the bone completely out of place for that long– over two hours– was really starting to become an issue.
At the Oral Surgery Department, my resident and the resident there had something of a spat. “My attending says this…” and “Well, MY attending says that…” I couldn’t really follow it. But it seemed that there was a disagreement as to where I was supposed to be treated. Or something. Meanwhile the receptionist tried to get her head around the fact that I was not a Metro patient, had never been here before, had no Metro clinic number, nor a surgeon, nor an appointment. …
Anyway, this young guy in scrubs finally took charge of me. He showed me into a room and sat me sideways in a dentist chair. He said that he would push on it a little bit, and there would be some pressure, but then it would be all done. Meaning– NO Drugs. Meaning– no nothing. Just hard core, put the bone back while I sit here. I suggested as calmly as possible that it was in muscle spasm (hint: might need some meds to relax that muscle… to say nothing of the REST of the patient…) “Oh, I’m sure it is,” he said. “You can’t have a bone out of place that long and not have the muscle around it go into spasm.”
Not to put too fine a point on it: I starting crying.
Dread.
The dread was very intense at that moment. Not to mention just… I don’t know. Patient fatigue I guess you could call it.
He poo-poohed it and patted my shoulder. “It really won’t hurt. We’re not going to hurt you.” Then he added, “I’m going to round up some other people who want to watch.”
WATCH!? Oh dear god.
While he was out of the room I got some paper towel and dried my eyes, trying to bolster my strength for whatever was to come. But when they all came in– seemed like a lot of them although it was probably only three or four– I started crying again. They all gazed down at me with concern. “It’ll be quick,” they promised. “We just want to watch because we never get to see this.”
I guess it gave me SOME confidence that the leader of this crowd seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He put his thumbs into my mouth and just pushed my jaw in a very odd way, somehow pressing on my back teeth while lifting the front. Then he said, “Try to close your mouth, gently now.”
I tried. It closed! It felt OKAY! It felt much BETTER actually. All done! A miracle!
Just then a lady came in. She said, “It’s all over?? Aw, I missed it!” She seemed genuinely disappointed.
The receptionist too was stunned that I was back already. “What?? All done?”
“Yep.” I said proudly. “It was incredible! So fast!” I realized the SHEER BLISS of being able to once again talk normally. To have my normal FACE back. I signed many papers and left.
Homeward bound. Food, drink, nap, in that order.
Yes, it’s sore. The guy said it would be quite sore for a few days. But it feels so much better and I’m so glad that this whole mess is behind me.