A while back, I wrote about going to physical therapy for my thumbs. The exercises didn’t do a thing for my arthritis, but on the bright side, I now have thumbs that could win a bodybuilding competition. If there were such a thing. And if there isn’t, there should be. I’d finally have my moment.

I’ve had PT for my knees, shoulders, back, and thumbs. Not all at once, thankfully. Naturally, I assumed there couldn’t possibly be any other body parts left that could be subjected to physical therapy. I was wrong.

Enter my jaw. For months, I’ve had jaw pain since getting a crown. I could tell my bite was off—hitting harder on one side like I was auditioning to chew steak competitively. I’d had this happen before, and my previous dentist fixed it with a quick adjustment. Then she had the nerve to retire.

My new dentist tried an adjustment, but after a day or two, I could tell my bite was still . . . off. When I called back to report the problem, I was shipped to an oral surgeon.

The very nice oral surgeon took a lot of time explaining the anatomy and physiology of the temporomandibular joint (I didn’t interrupt him to tell him that not only did I have some knowledge of the TM joint due to my veterinary degree, but I had also taught human anatomy and physiology at Okaloosa Walton College). I just smiled and nodded like a good patient, although I could only imagine the glazed stares of all the people in that chair before me.

Then he discussed all the scary and expensive treatments that might or might not work for TMJ pain, including Botox injections in my jaw muscles. I told him if I was going to get Botox, it would be for my wrinkles, not my chewing apparatus. I also reiterated that I thought the pain stemmed from my irregular bite, so he sent me back to my dentist. But, just to be sure, I was scheduled for a recheck with him.

Back at the dentist, another bite adjustment was made, and—hallelujah—the pain decreased by about 75%. At my recheck with the oral surgeon, he wisely recommended holding off on the expensive, scary treatments for a few more weeks.

Victory! Right? Wrong. Then he handed me a device—a contraption called a MandiTrac, which is used for physical therapy of the jaw. Yes. Jaw. Physical therapy. Now, I’m sure that most people who know me would never suspect that my jaw muscles are underworked. Between running my mouth nonstop and eating like it’s my spiritual gift, I thought those babies got plenty of exercise. In peak condition. Olympic-level even. Just ask Hubby.

But no. Apparently, my masticatory muscles need to be “deprogrammed,” and my mandibular condyles need to be “reseated.” Which sounds less like a medical treatment and more like something you do to misbehaving airline passengers. Apparently, my jaw has been making poor choices and needs counseling. Who knew my jaw muscles needed deprogramming? (Well, other than keeping my mouth shut completely so my foot isn’t always in it).

So now, every day, I dutifully insert this little gadget—complete with cushioned arms—into my mouth and practice biting in various positions. There’s even a YouTube tutorial, which I have so far resisted watching because I refuse to believe I need instructional support for chewing.

The only part the instructions failed to cover?

How to perform these exercises without drooling like a teething Saint Bernard.