It's been four weeks since the implant surgery. In these four weeks, I have - maybe - worn my partial six times because it was mandatory that I NOT scare small children. The first longest time (about two hours) was to a luncheon given by the Ireland Tourism Board at the Ritz Carlton in Atlanta. (I do know how to pick 'em!) Not only did I speak as though I wrestled a baseball in my mouth but also picked at my Ritzy food, rearranging it on my plate as though I had consumed some. Eating is rather a arduous chore. With liquid, I find that simply tilting my head backwards moves the drink to the back of my throat, avoiding the bulky palate all together. I honestly can't believe I said that.
The next time, a 12-hour wedding day. Needless to say, Len became my voice for the day. Vocal directions for portraits and group shots morphed into pointing, but I think everyone did well following the finger. After about the fourth hour, the suction reminded me as I chugged my Gatorade, that fairly soon, I would be unable to tell the real from the fake. Again, I'm getting the hang of this. At the end of the day as we loaded our gear into the Jeep and we rolled into the front seat for the two hour drive home, I snatched the aggravation out. I had made it. Next time, knowledge will make the day easier.
Other than that, no issues - with the exception of the stitches that refuse to let go. The bone graft and implant spot (front and center) have yet to heal, but I'm guessing any day now. Part of the stitch hangs and reminds me each time I move my tongue that if I could just yank - and then I do - and then I regret.
Let Mother Nature heal in her own time. Patience, dear girl. This is only temporary.