When is it the right time to go to the dentist?
Two thirty, of course!
=^)
Yesterday while eating a leftover Christmas candy cane, one of the pieces felt a little peculiar in my mouth. It didn't take long to realize that a large portion (80% as confirmed by my dentist) of one of my lower molars had broken away and was clattering around the rest of my teeth along with the crunchy candy granules. At first I wasn't sure which tooth it had come from so, very gingerly, I ran the tip of my tongue around until it settled on the now foreign location. I wished with all my might that I could just press the broken piece back in place and then forget any of this had happened but a person doesn't get to be my age without learning, somewhere along the line, that "wishing won't make it so."
As I fondled the bit of self that, until now had been a part of me for most of my life, I began to think about all it and I had experienced together in my journey over the years. That began to make me feel very melancholy so I made fun, instead, by joking about putting it under my pillow. Then I drank a cup of hot tea and went to bed, pretending the problem would go away as I slept. But, of course, it didn't.
That's behind me now; that road has been traveled and another day has come and almost gone. Luckily, my dentist had an opening and I am now the semi-contented wearer of a firmly cemented temporary crown. Is it worth the hour of pricking, jabbing, drilling, poking, gagging and prodding? My guess is 'yes' but I'm a little too tired at the moment to know for sure. I did enjoy having my own personal TV during the procedure, complete with remote and headphones. I turned the volume up loud to drown out the buzzing sounds of the drill - which put me in mind of chainsaws in autumn. I chose the National Geographic channel...to make a good impression - and also because I am in protest against the propaganda that permeates the news channels. As a result, I will always associate my reconstructed tooth with the vision of a boatload of men dumping a tub of blood into the ocean in order to entice the great white sharks. Surely there must be something that needs doing more than that. But what do I know?
One thing I do know is that it is not a good idea to go shopping when you're numbed and dopey. I'm speculating that the Novocaine may have infiltrated my capacity to reason using logic. I came home with a large slotted spoon that I don't need and a new little coffee pot, just because it's cute!
No candy canes, though.
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