Today I did something that only Scrappy had done in this family before. No, I did not eat poop, but it would have been more fun. After several hours of a pain that felt like (and this is NO joke) I had a kidney stone in my mouth, I had a bottom molar (#18 for you dentistry fans) yanked out this afternoon. I had left work after an hour of only being able to stand it if I had water in my mouth. After an hour at home waiting for 4 ibuprofins to kick in and do some good (which they did another couple hours later, as the dentist walked into the exam room), I called 1-800-TOOTHACHE and went to Afdent.
Let me tell you, these are good people. After numbing me beyond care and sticking some object the size of a stepladder in my mouth to hold it open, they then expanded it seven times its normal size and in the doctor and his lovely assistant went. (I want you to know all descriptions of pain and horror are exaggerations. These guys and gals knew their stuff and did it well.) Then came intermittent shoving followed by the question, "Pressure or pain?", which was followed by the definite feeling of the new show Backyard Oil filming an episode in the center of the subject tooth. Finally, after another little period of the dentist attempting the Wah-Watusi upon the fool thing (and me debating whether I should grab his arm and help push), the tooth came out.
Four hours later, I have about 95% feeling in my tongue and I can push it against my inner lip without it feeling like it's disappearing into the void. My teeth no longer feel like foreign objects ( though my cheek still does) and I've had a rousing dinner of baby food, pudding, and cottage cheese. And no pain, though I have medication sitting nearby, awaiting its chance to hop to it like a platoon of battle-hardened marines.
Luckily, though I might be falling apart, Laurie and I made something to close this post with actual entertainment. Enjoy!