
The only tooth with a cavity that I have in my mouth, the one that I had diagnosed and filled eleven years ago, the one that had a very fleeting sensitivity to it after it got filled, a sensitivity that was impossible to trigger at the dentist's office all those years, the one who the dentist felt that someday I may have to have a crown put on, that same tooth (molar) very suddenly became uncomfortable to live with by Monday morning.
I went to work on Monday only to stay a few hours and head back home to see my dentist to find out what the hell is going on.
"Sorry Jerry", he said. "Another set of x-rays do not reveal anything that I can detect being a problem". "I'm going to recommend this oral surgeon and I want you to see her right away."
"No shit doctor, my ear is starting to hurt.", I snapped. "Here's a prescription for some pain killers but don't mix them with alcohol", he said. Yeah right, I thought. I need the full effect from these things.
I called the surgeon the first thing in the morning on Tuesday. Her assistant said to come in at 3 p.m. I was there at 2:30 p.m.
She poked, she prodded, she x-rayed also. She said "You need a root canal."
WTF, WHY!?!? And WTF does that mean? Can I get on a plane on Thursday?
In paraphrase she said: It means that yes you can get on a plane and I'm going to do it right here, right now.
She pulled out one of those long horror movie needles attached to a syringe with finger-handles and she numbed the entire left side of my lower face.
Out came the drill and away she went. A few minutes into the job she hailed her assistant to call my general dentist. When he came to the phone on his end, she excused herself to talk to him. She came back to literally patch me up so that she can break the news.
You don't need a root canal....you need that tooth removed! After that, you'll need an implant, she added.
I immediately realized that for some reason, I've decended into hell and I've got to get on a plane tomorrow morning.
I feel like Dudley Moore's character George Webber.
*!*
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