It took 3 hours, 5 diamond drill bits, and two broken hand instruments for Doc to remove the crowns on 3 implants. These types of crowns are never supposed to be removed.

Porclin flying every which way. It was a war zone. Doc, his assistant, and I were shaking from the adrenalin, almost giddy with relief when it was finished. When we thought the job was finished. I had a twinge of worry about things when Doc said he was leaving the last part for Surg to do because Surg did not tell him how to finalize them the way he (Surg) wanted them. Surg was the implant expert after all.

A very important lesson was learned (by me) on the day of the surgery. Even the most intelligent of doctors, renowned in their fields, can fall into the Y-chromosome communication glitch. All men in my family, friends’ families, and any man I have ever met have issues finalizing plans. Especially with family members or co-workers. I tried to explain to my hubby how he needs to ask questions and get answers so he doesn’t have to guess or assume. Sigh. He doesn’t even think there is a problem.

Fast forward to 8:00 pm. The numbness is worn off enough for me to have some yogurt. Bruising is showing and my jaw throbs in protest.

It’s going to be a long night.