July 27, 2024
I’m getting old.
We say we’re “getting” old because we don’t know exactly when old happens and we keep pushing it back. I’m about two weeks from my 73rd birthday and still waffling on the definition of old. But along the way, I’ve gotten some physical bulletins that are impossible to ignore.
Unlike everyone my age I know, I will share my experience with you. You’re welcome.
The first heads-up was realizing that I need to take advantage of every public bathroom I see, whether or not I feel the need because when I do feel the need, it might well be too late.
Why didn’t somebody warn me about that? It seems like it would have been a neighborly heads-up between “getting old” friends. Just tell me, “You’re going to start leaking if you don’t pee in every nearby urinal or toilet.” That seems like a polite piece of advice, doesn’t it? Tell your friends.
A few days ago I had my remaining teeth taken out of my head. I now have no, zero, teeth.
The back story is lifelong, I’ve always had lousy teeth. Even as a child of the 50s, I had many cavities and horrific experiences with Dr. Clifford and his slow, smoke-emitting drill.
I’ve always brushed. I have occasionally flossed, (wink-wink). But while other people went in for semi-annual checkups I stayed away because nothing in my mouth ever hurt even as my teeth simply began disintegrating for no apparent reason.
I had one tooth break while I was eating soft, non-crunchy ice cream. A couple of years ago I found a broken tooth in my mouth while I was sleeping. WTF?
So, CarolAnn and I decided it would be best, and ultimately cheaper, if I would just yank ‘em all and get dentures.
As of three days ago, I have no teeth but expensive dentures that look like those wind-up chattering toys we’ve all seen.
So many things people don’t explain as you get older. And the websites don’t help because they’re written with AI prompts by marketing pros 50 years younger than you are. Some of them still have baby teeth.
The good news is that my dentist, periodontist, and oral surgeon, all enriched by my patronage, agree that the procedures thus far have gone perfectly.
The bad news is my gums are now swollen and painful. I talk like Daffy Duck, lithping and thputtering. Trying to eat soft food like a banana with new dentures is the same as chewing with a mouthful of Legos.
Look, as I told my dentist, Joe Smith (yes, his real name), just yesterday, I don’t get all twisted over things I can’t change. It is what it is. I’m alive, reasonably alert, and happy.
The professionals tell me things in my mouth will get better. I paid to trust and believe them.
But you know what? Either way, I wake up every morning with my wife beside me, the dogs are ready to be let outside to pee, and then I make their breakfast and my coffee.
It’s a new day. Life goes on.
