Call Me Snaggletooth

I have been riding my bike to work on Fridays when the weather is nice. Yesterday morning I rode about 3.5 miles with no problems and was a half a block from the office when I bit it - the sidewalk, that is...was wearing a helmet, but unfortunately not on my chin. There was no car involved. I misjudged the lip of a sidewalk ramp that had a puddle of water in front of it (leftover from the previous night’s thunderstorm). The ramp lip was taller than I thought and I shouldda taken it head-on instead of at an angle – the same reason why bike riders are always instructed to take railroad tracks on the perpendicular. I opted to jump to the sidewalk this way when I was suddenly blocked off by right turn traffic ahead, just picked the wrong place and angle to do it. The fall itself wasn't scary at all. What was horrifying was the sound of my teeth crunching like Doritos in my mouth and through my upper lip. I was so stunned and in my own world that I didn’t even look around to see who was walking around me and or even think to ask for assistance. Blood was everywhere, and I just kept thinking, my God, I must look like a total freak right now from the amount of blood I’m dripping. I put my hand to my mouth and spit out a piece of a tooth into my palm. I stood up, uprighted my bike (which remained completely in tact), and walked with it over to a nearby trash can. I leaned the bike against a black, utility box unit while I stood dripping blood into the trash can. I was wearing an exercise tank layered with a lightweight grey shirt. I had my change of work clothes on me in my pack.

My immediate concern was just getting myself presentable enough to walk into my office building without causing a scene. I already had blood on my grey shirt, and was just about ready to take it off to sop up the blood from my face when two very sweet women came over to me, asked me if I was okay and presented me offerings from their purse. One woman had an entire stack of paper napkins and another handed me her entire mini-Kleenex tissue pack. Both women looked at me, sympathetically, and somewhat apologetically, as if to say- I wish I could give you medical attention, but this is all I know to do for you right now. I accepted their offerings graciously, with much thanks and got myself as cleaned up as I could under the circumstances.

Then, I crossed the street with my bike, locked it on the bike rack and walked into the building. I started feeling super light-headed, stopped to rest at a chair and table in the lobby and sat with my head on the table for a bit, just breathing and taking in the coolness of the air conditioned environment, still holding the napkins to my mouth. I was at the rear entrance, so there were very few people around, which was nice. I have nearly fainted in public before a few times and every time I was so embarrassed by it. I hate to be a burden to people, especially strangers. So, I was actually more worried about losing consciousness in public than I was about losing consciousness. After a few moments I regained enough energy to make it to the lobby, up the escalator and to the 6th floor where I immediately ducked into the women’s washroom to assess the damage. I looked like the victim of an intense domestic abuse incident. My lip was already so swollen and cut I couldn’t tell how bad exactly, though I knew it was deep. I wondered if it would require stitches I was surprised that only one of my teeth had shattered from all the crunching I heard. It didn’t look as hideous as I expected. I was missing only a quarter of my left front tooth, now a wavy jagged edge and the entire front section of upper teeth was extremely sore. My chin and left arm were both bleeding and black from sidewalk grit and scrapes. I cleaned myself up a bit, then walked over to my friend Laura’s desk to get her opinion. I explained the ordeal and asked her if she thought I would need stitches. She insisted that she take me to an immediate care center because the lip wound was deep and was also concerned that I could have a concussion. It took me a while before I decided to go with her. I kept thinking I could get some work done and maybe get myself checked out later, but when I started feeling light-headed again, I took her up on the offer. Some gals at the office fashioned an ice pack from paper towels and ice in the kitchen to take with me and it helped control the swelling. My co-worker, Vicki, loaded my bike into her SUV parked outside to return to me later this weekend which was a fantastic help.

Laura and I took a cab to an immediate care center on Michigan Avenue. The staff there was very nice. They cleaned my up a bit more, dressed my arm wound and gave me a tetanus shot. I also had a chance to change into my better, non-blood stained work shirt. After pressing along my face in numerous places, the care center doctor suggested I see a radiologist for a chin scan for fear that I might have a hairline jaw fracture at minimum. They also wanted me to get a c.t. scan to rule out a possible concussion, but I talked them out of that, insisting that the impact was strictly to my chin and mouth and there’s be no reason for that. They called a nearby radiologist’s office, but their chin scan machine was out of commission, so I was instructed to go to the Northwestern ER. On the way out, I told Laura I could handle the ER trip on my own so she could go back to the office and get some work done. She told me she’d call me on my cell to check in with me and handed me two granola bars she’d grabbed that were available in the immediate care center. I’m so glad she thought to grab those because they came in handy later.

I’ve been to Northwestern ER once before when I had a kidney stone issue, so I knew exactly where to go and what the procedures were. I also knew I would be there a while and was bummed that I didn’t have a book with me- one of the many books I have sitting on my nightstand. I take them out of my backpack when I ride to work to lighten the pack load. I tried reading a magazine, but couldn't keep interest in any of the articles. I thought it would be good to try Reiki on myself to ease the pain and help the healing, but the ER environment is so frenetic that the meditative focus needed for that was just not accessible. Once checked in, I was in a room with several others awaiting tests and treatments. There was a man accompanied by his partner who had fallen through a temporary deck structure that was in place while construction of the deck was going on. It was an upper level deck. One foot fell completely through and the one that didn’t was strained so much from the pressure of trying to keep support that the foot broke in half, tearing ligaments. They were awaiting the results of a scan to see if he needed surgery. Another man, elderly and incredibly frail occupied the bed next to me. We were separated by a curtain. I think he was homeless man and may have just come in to get something to eat. A female security guard stood watching over him about four feet from the foot of his bed and he asked her if she could bring him food. She said she couldn’t give him any food until he’s had a blood test and a urine test and asked him if he’d had either yet. He replied no. I learned later that his name was Mr. Smith. I had wished I could share a granola bar with him, but thought it might be against doctors’ wishes per the guard’s instructions. I ended up being there for so long, waiting before and after my scan that I was glad to have the granola bars to eat with the back right side of my mouth. While I was there, several other people that I couldn’t see, but could hear, came into the room to harass the registrar because they hadn’t been admitted yet. I heard people wailing in pain, talking about the seriousness of their infections, screaming, calling the nurses bitches. I realized that the ER people handle an incredible amount of abuse on a daily basis. God bless 'em. I also felt guilty that I occupied a bed that someone else could have and hoped they would move quickly on getting me out so someone else could be admitted.

The thing about Northwestern Memorial Hospital is that about four out of every five male doctors rank high on the hot scale. I’m serious. I’m convinced they hold auditions. There are so many attractive doctors there that I sometimes felt like I was on a soap opera, except for being in actual pain. They offered me painkillers, but I had popped an Advil before I arrived and didn’t want to overdo it. I had two doctors, both easy on the eyes. My main doctor was glad to hear I’d already called my dentist and scheduled an early a.m. appointment for Saturday and said he would be applying a tooth coating to protect the broken one in the meantime. Every doc I talked to kept emphasizing that the dentist visit should happen as soon as possible because my tooth and perhaps teeth were very fragile after sustaining the trauma and all were confident that the dental work would be routine and get my teeth back to looking normal. I was glad I didn’t have to see many people with my broken smile before I would be getting it fixed. I had joked at the office earlier that people would believe me now when I tell them I’m from Kentucky. I had a total hillbilly grin going on, when I did smile- which wasn’t too often because it split my lip wound more. Just when I was thinking this, the doctor returned to my bedside with two interns: a woman and yet another attractive guy. “You’re kidding me?” I said “Is it this serious that you needed two more people?” I joked with him. They had come to view the tooth-sealing. The woman joked that she was brought in to hold me down while I screamed which made me laugh and hurt my lip more. The doctor said he brought them in to watch since it was a teaching hospital and hoped I didn’t mind. And thus, he proceeded to use me as a guinea pig for Sealing a Snaggletooth 101. My only issue with this was that I had to keep my mouth open for a long time through the slow explanations of how to count the teeth, the classifications of the three different types of tooth breaks and the actual brushing on of some sort of plaster sealant. It wouldn’t have been so bad had it been in a dentist office, equipped with suction tools to keep the saliva under control. But it wasn’t. It was me, a woman intern, a hot doctor and hot male intern staring down at me with a hillbilly grill, drooling on myself. But, hey, I suppose I did my part for the interns' medical education.

While I was waiting for the results of my chin scan, I noticed that I had also bruised my left leg pretty bad through my jeans and that there is a very small, black piece of gravel stuck deep into my palm that will invitably work it’s way back to the surface in time. So minor I didn’t want to waste the doctors' time with it. Also, while I was waiting, several doctors took turns trying to get my neighbor, Mr. Smith, to have a coherent conversation with them. He had fallen asleep and they needed to talk to him about his symptoms and what he was in for. I could hear them going to great lengths trying to rouse him with little success. The same man I had heard asking for food a half hour earlier, was now speaking only jibberish. When they finally got him to respond, the round of questions went like this:
Doc: “Mister Smith, are you hearing voices?”
Mr. Smith: “ehhhh…yeahhhhh.”
Doc: “Mister Smith, Are you having thoughts about wanting to hurt yourself?”
Mr. Smith: “Yes.”
Doc: “Are you having thoughts about wanting to hurt other people?”
Here there was a long pause. I listened attentively.
Please answer, him, Mister Smith. I thought. I’m interested to know considering I’m the nearest person to you when the doctor leaves, there is only a curtain between us and I like to think I’ve met my trauma quota for the day.
Mr. Smith answered with jibberish.

Needless to say, I was thrilled to get my scan results- no chin fractures- and skip outta the trauma room with a prescription of antibiotics and painkillers. Since then, my friends Laura and Marcia called me several times to check up on me and make sure I wasn't unconscious somewhere from a concussion. They were so great to care so much and look after me.

It wasn't until I was at the pharmacy that I noticed something about my hospital wristband that struck me as funny. My former primary care doctor was a Northwestern physician and years ago someone mistyped on my medical profile that I was a male instead of female. I asked them to correct this years ago, but there it was again on my wrist i.d. that I was a 31 year old male. Apparently this gender mistake is still haunting me. I wonder if it ever royally screws up their statistics that I have an extensive history of ovarian cysts.

Today I was at the dentist and it turns out that more than one of my teeth was compromised with stress fractures, both vertical and horizontal. So, I got a temporary cap-like unit that looks astonishingly real securing three of my front teeth and in the coming week I will be going with two veneers on the two front teeth because bonding would not be strong enough for day-to-day wear and tear given the stress fractures. So, I will see how much my insurance will cover of that. Hopefully a good amount of it. I promise I didn’t eat the sidewalk yesterday with intent to get an all-expenses paid smile makeover. This weekend I am resting and eating rice and ice cream. I will probably refrain from biking to work for a while.