I'm not going to lie. It did not go as I had hoped.

Rationally, I knew that there was no way in frosty hell that I would have surgery in time before Dr. L went out of the country. But somehow, silly me, was still holding hope.

Instead, I walked out of Dr. S' office with 4 new top front brackets (I don't know what they're called) and an overwhelming sense of sadness and disappointment. Also, two more appointments in the next six weeks.

In 6 weeks they'll take another set of impressions and we will try again with the surgeon. Then maybe we can schedule.

I am depressed. Sad. Frustrated. Angry. Demoralized.

I can't really be justifiably be mad at the doctors, it wasn't them who didn't do the surgery when I was young. I do feel like this could have been handled better and I shouldn't have to push so hard to get appointments and things moving. But I can't be mad at them if my teeth don't move. I'm 27; I'm not surprised at all that my teeth aren't moving well. I'm full grown and my teeth are set too well in my head.

But I'm angry. And mad. Mad enough to swandive off my diet and eat pizza and icecream before my teeth started hurting last night.

Sad.