Je Déteste Le Dentiste et les chaussettes humides

Oh, how I dislike going to the dentist. I’ve been putting it off for weeks. Finally, at work today, it was too much. I called the dentist’s office and asked when they could see me. “Right now” or on Tuesday. I asked exactly when “right now” was and they meant RIGHT NOW. So, I jumped in my car and went.

It’s tooth number 14 (the one I’ve always had problems with since it was butchered when I was a kid in high school). He removed the filling currently in place — it’s been removed nearly six times — to see what was wrong but other than a tiny amount of decay, which he insisted couldn’t be causing my misery, he suggested we give it a root canal and a crown to fix it for good.

I politely declined saying I’d like to try the filling one more time and he obliged. This wasn’t my regular dentist but the other dentist in his office (who I may even like more) and he started in on me. But I stopped him after about halfway and demanded more Novocain. A little over an hour later, I have a new filling. He said I’d probably call him next week begging for a root canal, and right now I probably agree with that assessment but I hate those things and am doing whatever I can to avoid it.

My tooth hurts, I have a pounding headache because of the tooth, and to make it worse I am waiting for the plumber to correct a “toilet emergency” and I will spare you the details except to say “flush” and then “wet socks.”

Liz (Mrs. Johnny B) has a nice photo of me on her Flickr blog from my group birthday outing to the Hard Rock. I’ll share it when I get it.

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