Dental Adventures--I Hate It

One day a couple of weeks ago I was being a good tooth-carer and flossing my teeth when my crown on my back left molar just popped right out of my mouth. Hmm. That's troublesome. So I called the dentist the next morning and went in for an emergency visit to have them temporarily recement the crown back onto that silly tooth.

*As a side note, visiting the dentist unplanned is a bit of a hassle. I have to arrange for time off from work, which isn't always easy depending on my workload and deadlines. I also have to see if my mother-in-law has the time and availability to drive down to watch Scarlet while I leave. Then I have to call the dentist (I hate calling people more than I hate anything ever) and somehow make my case sound important enough to wedge me into the already-full schedule of the day. This hassle doesn't even take into account the fact that I'll have to work longer that day to make up the missed work and that I'll likely be sore and grumpy from any dental work done. But I digress.*

So, back to the visit. The dentist said that the crown would likely pop off repeatedly unless I replaced it because it had been made too shallow (it had to be because I got it when I was a pre-adolescent and my gums were still developing underneath it). I promptly scheduled an appointment and one week later I was back in the dentist's chair (having undergone all the same inconveniences of work and babysitting I discussed above) while the dentist drilled and cleaned and molded and then recapped the tooth with a temporary crown until the mold could be sent to a company and a permanent crown could be made. I have an appointment scheduled for that in another week. I went home, thinking that was the end of it for at least a week.

It was not.

The next day I ate breakfast a little gingerly because my temporary crown was a bit sensitive. As the day progressed, my tooth and then my jaw eventually ignited into flame and I endured rather excruciating pain for a few hours before I broke down and took a couple of Tylenol. I made the necessary arrangements again to see the dentist the next day. He explained to me that my predicament could be caused by one of two things: either my tooth is really sore because the cells surrounding the nerve in that tooth are building an extra layer of tooth to protect the nerve from further impact, OR the nerve is gradually dying from too much trauma on that tooth and will require a root canal. Either way, I have to wait it out and self medicate when the pain gets too intense. Really? I set up an appointment to find out that nothing can be done?! If the tooth is growing an extra layer around the nerve, then that process will take four to five weeks. And if the nerve is dying, it will still be a process that takes several weeks to know for certain. Bah.

SO. Here I am, waking up every day with a grimace on my face and a snarky comment on my tongue. I *think* I've been good so far at keeping my surliness from offending Josh as I endure this unending barrage of tooth soreness each day. I have this crazy fear of needing pain medication for something serious and it not working because I've built up an immunity and however valid that fear is, it prevents me from taking medications unless I absolutely cannot stand it (which is why I waited until my contractions were 30 seconds apart before I broke down and begged for the juice). This equates to me holding off and waiting to take one or two Tylenol until the late afternoon. But it also means I've had a pretty foul attitude about absolutely everything.

Work is reorganizing AGAIN? I hate it. Our sink handle needs to be replaced. I hate it. It's raining? I hate it. Last night I bought a pizza and rented some movies from the library and I guess I didn't hate last night, but I think I hate just about everything else right now. Just four to five more weeks of this...