My last dental appointment was just days before the surgery. On my way out, I made the next one for six months in the future, thinking, “What the heck, I may be dead then, and if I am, it won’t be my problem.” And then I promptly forgot all about it.

Which is how I ended up with an appointment this morning at the ungodly hour of 8 am. In my past life, that was a reasonable hour, but these days I’m not getting up so well, and making it to the office was a bit surreal. It didn’t help that it was cold and rainy. We may get some echoes of Summer yet, but Fall has come to the City of Seattle.

As I made my way in, I realized I had no idea what lay in store. My mouth environment has been very strange. I haven’t been eating, which was probably good for avoiding cavities. But my saliva production has been all over the map, between the effects of tube feeding, diuretics, swallowing difficulties and the same lack of eating. I’ve been brushing lately, but there was a while where my mouth was too sensitive and swollen. I finally decided we’d just see what we would see, and walked in.

The young hygenist listened sympathetically to my tale of woe, and took some digital x-rays. Apparently I have a few pins in my jaw I didn’t know about. I really am Mr. Titanium these days. No major tooth flaws, though. Good news.

She then commenced to scrape off the tartar buildup. She progressed cheerfully along as I gripped the arms of the chair. (I’m not extraordinarily comfortable with people working on my teeth.) We discovered that rinsing was a problem, even with generous suction, as small amounts of water would sneak down toward my windpipe. We eventually found a technique of minimal rinsing, suction, and letting me sit up periodically that allowed us to complete the process without my drowning, or coughing in her face too often.

As she worked, it felt like there was a LOT of work being done. I closed my eyes. I tried not to let a tear leak out as I anticipated a gloomy report about the state of my teeth. Eventually, she said, “You’re actually in really good shape, considering what you’ve been through.” I was very happy, even with that “considering” clause. (Given that I can barely feel my lower right jaw, I’d had visions of all sorts of horror there.)

Polishing went remarkably easily. And then it was time to see Dr. Nguyen himself. He says I look great, and was very complementary about the work of the surgeons. He’s seen other patients after squamous surgery, and “sometimes they don’t look so good, all lumpy.” (Despite his Vietnamese heritage, young Dr. Nguyen is as boisterously American as they come.) He was also happy to see me looking so healthy overall, and to hear that there had been no lymph node spread, so we were optimistic. He got a big wide smile on his face, which reminded me that, hey, that really is pretty great, isn’t it?

So I got my trophy toothbrush and floss, and headed for home. On my way out, I made another appointment. It’s for 8 am. What the heck, I can always change it later.