I know what you’re probably thinking, “Maybe today Courtney will decide to start posting really deep, meaningful entries and stop writing about the dentist?”
I had the third and what I’m told is to be my final root canal yesterday. I know it probably seems like I’ve had fifteen based upon how much I go on about it. But it’s actually only been three, and has taken just about one year to get them all. On the one hand, I’m proud of myself for actually doing all of this and finding a way to pay for it. On the other hand, like you, I wish there was something a bit more thrilling going on in my life. Since there isn’t, and I’m okay with that, this is what I have to share.
Dr M, the husband of the dental team, gave me my longest, most painful root canal yet. The pain part came in when he began pulling out the root and I still had some feeling left. That wasn’t his fault and I immediately stopped to let them know I could feel something. One thing I learned seeing The Butcher of Broad Ripple, don’t let them go on with a drill when you can feel it, even just a little bit. I’ve had no adverse reactions to the anesthetic, so why not get a few more shots?
I could also feel the drilling in my jaw because my roots were apparently so deep that he had to use bits that were almost too long to fit inside my mouth. I heard the same thing from Dr Nasser, the Endodondist who did my last one. The roots were fused together and I had one or two extra that they couldn’t see right away. I got yet another digital x-ray so they could figure out how deep it was. I honestly think that’s one of the worst parts of going to the dentist because it makes me gag to hold those huge films inside my mouth. I have a very small mouth and jaw and a very active gag reflex.
I ended up taking a Vicodin last night when the numbness started to wear off because Ibuprofen just wasn’t cuttin’ it this time. I think it provided Charlie some entertainment. I have to say, of the procedures I’ve had done, this one was either the worst because of how long it took or I’m just so incredibly tired of having my poor jaw cranked open that I can’t take it anymore.
I know I should feel lucky that I haven’t lost any teeth. I could be wearing dentures at 31. When my mom was just a few years older than I am now, I remember her going in for similar visits to a dentist, every couple of weeks when I was in high school. I think, though I take after my dad’s side about 90%, the ten percent of me that takes after my mom’s side is all in my mouth. Her family has really bad teeth.
Then again, if I’m not getting molars pulled, maybe I don’t have the Bad Teeth Gene; she had access to the Navy’s dentists for free for years and my dad always had good health insurance once he retired from active duty. My excuse is not going in to get my teeth cleaned from the age of 17 until I was 30. That’s a long time, especially when you’re told at the last visit in 1993 that you have a cavity.
Today at three is my appointment to get the permanent crown placed. There’s a possibility they won’t be able to make it in the office and it’ll be farmed out to a lab. It sounds like there isn’t much of my molar left anymore. And I know I’m going to be over it before it starts. I’m not looking forward to more Novocaine in the same place I had fifteen shots less than 24 hours ago, and I know I’m going to be in there for a couple of hours. I plan on taking a book for all the downtime.
Maybe while I’m prone I can think up new and exciting things to blog about?