"My Stupid Mouth"
Well, the source of the mysterious toothache has been solved—and readily removed.
After suffering through the throbbing ache that emanated from the region of my jaw nearest the joint on the right side of my skull for more than a week, curiously, the ache disappeared within a day or two. Knowing that this isn't normal, I finally made an appointment to see a local dentist. Everything I read convinced me that I had a tooth abscess, which can only be treated two ways—root canal or extraction. Given that we're awaiting my "real" insurance to kick in at work, I was worried that I would have to make the choice between saving my tooth and spending a small fortune (root canal) or saving some bucks (extraction).
Once I saw the x-rays, that immediately became a moot argument. "It's a very clear abscess, and it's very clearly an unsalvagable tooth," the dentist told me.
Somehow, despite having never had a cavity in my life, I had a rotten tooth stuck in my jaw. The x-ray was disturbing; the tooth was but a shell around a cavernous, hollowed-out core.
Within minutes, after signing the release forms, I had, in quick succession, three scary-large needles jammed in my jaw, numbing my face for the impending extraction process.
"How wong fould dish take?" I asked. "About 30 minutes, tops," the dental assistant replied, somehow understanding my mush-mouthed query.
An hour-and-a-half later it was all over. I'll spare the gory details, but there were multiple drills, pliers, bone files and an extra shot of anesthesia halfway through the ordeal involved. Apparently, I allowed the dentist to partake in what he seemed to think was the most difficult tooth extraction in history.
Once "we" were done, I was soaked in sweat and shivering, and I was as exhausted and tense as if I'd been hanging by my fingertips on the edge of a 100-story building for an hour-and-a-half. Once I paid the receptionist for the privilege of having someone demolish my mouth, I made the drive home, unable to feel anything above my neck, filled my prescription for hydrocodone at the drug store and collapsed on the couch at home with a mouthful of gauze, a head swimmingly full of nartcotics and a jaw with a gaping hole where a seemingly healthy tooth once made its home.
Thank God for modern medicine—and I can say that without a hint of sarcasm because, even just 20 years ago, this could have been soooooo much worse.
After suffering through the throbbing ache that emanated from the region of my jaw nearest the joint on the right side of my skull for more than a week, curiously, the ache disappeared within a day or two. Knowing that this isn't normal, I finally made an appointment to see a local dentist. Everything I read convinced me that I had a tooth abscess, which can only be treated two ways—root canal or extraction. Given that we're awaiting my "real" insurance to kick in at work, I was worried that I would have to make the choice between saving my tooth and spending a small fortune (root canal) or saving some bucks (extraction).
Once I saw the x-rays, that immediately became a moot argument. "It's a very clear abscess, and it's very clearly an unsalvagable tooth," the dentist told me.Somehow, despite having never had a cavity in my life, I had a rotten tooth stuck in my jaw. The x-ray was disturbing; the tooth was but a shell around a cavernous, hollowed-out core.
Within minutes, after signing the release forms, I had, in quick succession, three scary-large needles jammed in my jaw, numbing my face for the impending extraction process.
"How wong fould dish take?" I asked. "About 30 minutes, tops," the dental assistant replied, somehow understanding my mush-mouthed query.
An hour-and-a-half later it was all over. I'll spare the gory details, but there were multiple drills, pliers, bone files and an extra shot of anesthesia halfway through the ordeal involved. Apparently, I allowed the dentist to partake in what he seemed to think was the most difficult tooth extraction in history.Once "we" were done, I was soaked in sweat and shivering, and I was as exhausted and tense as if I'd been hanging by my fingertips on the edge of a 100-story building for an hour-and-a-half. Once I paid the receptionist for the privilege of having someone demolish my mouth, I made the drive home, unable to feel anything above my neck, filled my prescription for hydrocodone at the drug store and collapsed on the couch at home with a mouthful of gauze, a head swimmingly full of nartcotics and a jaw with a gaping hole where a seemingly healthy tooth once made its home.
Thank God for modern medicine—and I can say that without a hint of sarcasm because, even just 20 years ago, this could have been soooooo much worse.
posted by Carter at 6:33 PM
1 Comments:
That isn't YOUR x-ray, is it?
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