(warning: medical TMI within, specifically dental TMI, so if this is a phobia...go away.)

So yeah, back to the blog. I haven't wanted to as of late. When I'm worried about something, I put off doing the nebulous "things I should." I'm still going to work of course, and have been surprisingly productive. But at home...there's always some fun to retreat to. Freelance work? Sure, honey, I'll watch our Netflix movies with you. Update the curling website? ehh...maybe I should try to get to the third board of this ridiculous MAME game. Write some trivia questions? Sheeeeit. I couldn't even be bothered to do right by Mark and the Bruce and update their links. And this is supposed to be fun.



Like many kids in the 80s, I had braces. And boy, did I need them. My teeth Were. A. Mess. Big buck-teeth, gapped incisors, and canines that hadn't dropped down with the rest of my teeth. So I spent two-plus years with the metal mouth, and they looked okay. But a few years ago, I was diagnosed with the dirty little side-effect of orthodontia: root resorption. Who knows why: maybe it was because of the metal bands I had around each tooth (most of my peers had the more common cement brackets, with bands only on the molars). Maybe it was all done too quickly. Maybe I was lax in care during the braces/retainer period.



In any case, I've had loose front teeth for about four years. For the most part this didn't make a huge difference. I just favored the other side or the back of my mouth, and haven't bitten into a whole apple in the 21st century. Last year, though, two of them got really bad. Fortunately, around that time Kirsti's company switched to a new dental policy that had more generous coverage regarding implantology. So...this Saturday morning I'm going to have six teeth extracted and four implants added. I'm not too worried about the pulling--I had teeth pulled when I got the braces, and frankly, the guy could shoot a threatening look at a couple of these teeth and they'd pop right out, they're that loose. But the implants have me worried. They are pieces of titanium to be screwed into my skull, after all. The first occasional anxiety dream happened the other week. And that never happpens. Fortunately I was not in high school and/or in my underwear.



The implants need 3-4 months to knit with the bone, at which point they'll be capped with crowns and a permanent bridge. So I'll get to wear a flipper the rest of the year. Comedy gold, I tell you. I know it's not cancer or anything serious, but I'm still pissed about the whole situation. Can't help feeling I'm too young for something like this. It doesn't help my apprehension about the whole ordeal that all the online information about implantology features pictures of senior citizens. But with the eighties braces-wave, I know I'm not alone.



Ah, well...maybe I'll grow my hair out, wear that scuzzy Flyers jersey, and be Bobby Clarke for Halloween.



(I was unsuccessful in finding a good Bobby Clarke photo; you know which one. There's already a betting line on which one of you bastards will deliver the goods.)