I Did It, and Lived to Tell the Tale!

toothache

There are few things in my life that I dread more than dental work, and by dental work, I mean anything whatsoever that causes me to open the door to a dentist’s office, and go inside, unless I’m just selling magazine subscriptions or Avon products. (None of which I sell, btw.)

But alas, once in a great while, Fate decides to provide the entertainment for the rest of the Gods of Morpork and Ankh (I’m reading Terry Pratchett) and gives me a toothache. And not just any toothache, but one so bad that I had to see my regular dentist to be told after an hour’s work that the tooth beneath my crown is basically mush, but that he’s SURE he can save it. Why he wants to save mush is never fully explained, but an appointment with an endodontist is made immediately so I can have root canal “therapy.” You’d think anything with the word “therapy” in it would be soothing and pleasant, with soft music, and kind people handing you tissues as you spend long, cathartic minutes rehashing your misunderstood childhood, and leave feeling cleansed and capable.

Sadly, in root canal “therapy,” the closest you come to being soothed would be the Halcion tablets you’re given an hour before the procedure (which rather than soothe, render your fingers so fat you can’t type, much less walk a straight line across the room, while carrying a cup of Earl Grey), and forget pleasant altogether.  Pleasant is RIGHT OUT. Tissues are for spitting into, and the only thing cathartic about the process is when it ends and you get to tell the endodontist what you think of him, his forefathers, and the horse they rode in on, too, as you stumble out the door, still under the influence of the Halcion. It’s possible I was so deeply under that same influence, the doctor thinks I propositioned both him and that horse I mentioned. Speaking clearly at that point was no easier than navigating a straight line, so I can only wonder who or what might show up at my front door one Saturday night.

And the best news of all? I get to do this again two more times in rapid succession at my regular dentist’s office, while he puts in a post, core, and a new crown. Say? Isn’t he the one who started all this? I’ll have a few Halcion words for him, too. I’m working on them, already! 🙂

8 thoughts on “I Did It, and Lived to Tell the Tale!

    • Oh, yeah, Sue. PAIN is something they’re big on. Therapy, not so much so. I’m thinking where that comes into play is after you’ve endured so much pain, you need some serious therapy. Which might explain all those mental health clinics nearby dentists’ offices.

      The good news is, the Halcion did knock me out pretty thoroughly. I remember, “Hello, Doctor,” and then nothing much until “let me just tell you what I think of you and everyone on your family tree!” But when I close my eyes, I hear suspicious laughter, amid clinking, grinding, whirring noises, as people frolic in my mouth, whilst making jokes at my expense. See. It’s not REALLY gone. I’m wise to what they’ve done. And I will get them for it. *Evil plotting here* I’m writing them ALL into my next novel…AND KILLING THEM, IN SLOW AND PAINFUL WAYS. 😀 😀 😀

      Liked by 1 person

    • Well, for one thing, I would never have a tooth pulled that could possibly be saved. Even with my phobias, I take pretty good care of them, still have all of my own (at 71), and have been told I will probably be able to keep them all of my life. (I haven’t told my dentist I plan to live until I’m 125, at least!) So, no pulling, if it can be saved, and hopefully, this one will make it! It’s on Life Support right now, but I think it will pull through. 😀

      Liked by 1 person

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