Friday, February 9, 2001

 

1:04 a.m. So, here is where I ended up ...

Remember that throbbing pain that wouldn't go away, no matter how much herbal tea I drank? Cranberry juice wasn't doing the trick; neither was the heating pad, aspirin, or rationalizations. No -- it finally came down to the cold, bitter truth: I had a toothache.

No biggie, you'd say ... and you'd be right ... except that I've managed to avoid going to the dentist for, oh -- let's see -- 25 or so years now. They've been blissful, happy, stress-free years, let me tell you. No little appointment cards and no pushy little reminders not to cancel that all-important date. No yelling about the state of my toothbrush and none of that saliva suction thing either.

I believe that all-important layer of protective plaque has protected me all these years -- until this past couple of weeks when something went inexplicably, terribly wrong. The pain was bad at times and some times it mostly disappeared, but I am no fool -- I knew it was centered in the vicinity of the tooth that I sorta broke in the back when I was crunching on ice in the middle of the summer.

And the pain, some nights, was really pretty bad ...

So today. Made the appointment to go and get it looked at. And guess what? I had a root canal right then and there. And guess what else? It wasn't all that bad. Who knew?

It's true that the way I convinced myself to make the call (other than the pain) was the idea that I could try nitrous oxide for the first time. Instead of looking at another night of pain, I could go for a (legal) drug experience. Sounded good to me. It was a goal, after all. Plus, maybe it was just an impacted wisdom tooth and ...

So they took X-rays and clucked a bit and then I found out that in addition to the (very) expensive root canal, the nitrous gas would be extra. $125. But, since that was the reason I was going in the first place, I went for it -- rationalizing that it was the same as a bottle of wine, and we'd surely spring for the wine if it were a special, once-every-quarter-century occasion. Which this was.

They have little tiny TV sets in the chair and so I watched General Hospital and tried to deep breathe up as much of the drug as I could. I'd say, on reflection, that you might as well save your money. Even one glass of wine would have been better.

Maybe I'm particularly drug resistant, or maybe I was unbelievably nervous, or maybe I expected too much. Mental note: practice and perfect deep yogic cleansing breaths from now on. Maybe I didn't get enough?

The big thing, of course, are the needles. I have to say that I think the doctor gave me four or five of them, at least. I turned into a solid steel Terminator head for the couple of hours I sat there, trying to get high, and eventually he came back in and did some minor drilling and, I guess, reaming. It just wasn't very bad.

Plus, there was a second doctor-ette whose only job was to aim that suction thing where it was needed instead of letting it just hang off my lip. I was grateful for that. Plus, I watched a little of Oprah without the sound. Plus I have a prescription for antibiotics, but sadly, no prescription for pain killers.

So here I am. The numbness has worn off and I'm in a state of euphoria that I can hardly describe. I'm on the other side of a root canal, one of the broadest expanses of worry I've ever had to bridge. All these years of hearing how awful they are! All these years of worry ... and here I am.

My jaw area is a little tender, but not very. I'm $800 poorer and I do have a little appointment card for the 19th of February, when they complete the process with a crown and, I hope, more nummy needles. That will be another $700 or so -- and I'll probably skip the nitrous. Still, for that money I coulda hada G4 if ...

But, Knock on wood. I'm lucky I got there in time. Another 25 years and I might have lost the tooth.