This was in my shoe this morning:
Yeah, I don’t know either.
So. On Monday, I went to the dentist (again – I should just move in) to deal with the last of my cavities. While I was there, I asked if something could be done about the shards of tooth that were causing me untold grief – they didn’t necessarily hurt, but I couldn’t stop poking at them and it was cutting my mouth up pretty badly. I was hoping they could either file the pointy bits down, or yank them out until we dealt with the whole thing.
My dentist is much more ambitious than I would have thought. He decided that the tooth needed to come out, and it needed to come out now – so we’d be taking care of that while we did the fillings. I had virtually no time to psyche myself up for this, but it was too late to turn back: a tooth would be coming out, whether I was fully on board with the idea or not. Bring on the Novocain!
And, they did. Nine shots of it. It might have been more; I actually lost count of how many times they jabbed me with that goddamn needle. It took a considerable amount of time, effort and horrible nightmare-inducing implements of torture to yank the offending tooth out of my head, and I bled into soggy gauze for about 6 hours afterward. I was woozy as hell and completely frozen on the left side of my head – that much Novocain might SOUND fun, but I’m pretty sure it held all my logic and reasoning abilities hostage because it sounded like a REALLY GOOD idea to buy some lottery tickets and send my banking information to that nice Nigerian prince who will give me a large sum of money in exchange for my help.
The dentist helpfully gave me a prescription for some T3s, and I toddled off towards the office so I could collect my gear and go home. There, I passed out until Ed arrived, and he went to collect my drugs for me. I slept some more, exchange the disgusting gauze for some more, and woke up in a considerable amount of pain: something about having my face fucked by surprise dental surgery and being propped open for two hours while people diddled inside my mouth for fun.
It’s been two days since the extraction, and it’s both better and worse than I feared. The good: I’m not in agonizing pain; it’s just tender and sore and I can’t open my mouth fully. The bad: It still hurts (but I won’t take the T3s unless it’s bedtime), and it feels GROSS – the spot where my tooth used to be feels like an overripe melon and it’s horrible. I’m not supposed to be poking at it, but every time my tongue wanders over in that area I shudder a little. I’m trying to avoid having a grand old time because it hurts a little to laugh and smile, but I assume that’ll get better soon. Advil helps; as does ice cream (but mostly because it’s delicious).
In conclusion, I do not recommend breaking a tooth to such a degree that it requires an emergency extraction and I am ready for my mouth to stop hurting now.