Back when Jesus was an apprentice carpenter and MPS and I started hooking up (we never actually ‘dated’ per se, were friends that were hot for each other and then my boyfriend kinda got out of the way but that is a completely different story to what I am trying to so eloquently share today)
Where was I?
Oh yeah. Hooking up. So I think it was like the 4th or 5th time that we actually went somewhere together, instead of meeting up elsewhere or me turning up at the club he was DJing at, and it was some promotional bowling thing or a Christmas party or SOMETHING OMG GET TO THE POINT KELLEY THIS IS NOT EVEN RELEVANT and just a lead in to the actual story… sheesh.
Any whoodle, I had a toothache.
A toothache that I had been putting up with for quite a damn while, so much so that I couldn’t sleep from the pain and some funky shit was seeping out of that mofo. Those in the know would say that I had an abscess, I would have said if I ignore it long enough it will go away.
Sort of like those overly cheerful people manning card tables full of leaflets at the shopping centre.
So anyway, we were at this bowling alley promotional event Christmas party WHATEVER, and just the action of lifting the bowling ball felt like the tendons involved were directly attached to my tooth, and I realised that my current action plan was not working out so good.
MPS insisted that I needed to see a dentist.
Five minutes after sitting in the dentists chair I was staring at that damn tooth on some white gauze. That night I was pain free for the first time that seemed like an age.
Fast forward 8 years and I am heavily pregnant sporting a broken wisdom tooth from sneaking a Tim Tam while manning the service desk at work. I happily wandered into my magical dentists office to get it seen to and he told me to wait until Boo was born.
Six weeks later I was back. Alas things didn’t go so well and the tooth disintegrated as he was trying to remove it. He sent me off to a dental surgeon and I awoke from surgery with my entire gum line stitched up, bruises on my chest and a trip to the hospital to acquire pain meds which culminated in a lesson on where drug addicts shoot up.
(the fact that I had a barely healed caesar scar, a face full of stitches and a letter from the dental surgeon didn’t mean anything to the fucked up idiot med student who insisted I was drug seeking. I got him back though, I lactated ALL OVER THE PLACE TAKE THAT!)
Compounded with the fact that my great dentist died, the two I have seen since for minor fillings barely waited for the needles to take effect before boring into my head and the memory of the horrendous pain of a dry socket is still firmly imprinted in my nerve endings…
And so my complete and utter fear of dentists was born.
Now that I have set the scene (I would like to thank the Academy for this Stephen King Award for longest set up in a blog post) I am once again finding myself in the position of needing dental attention.
Well, INITIALLY it was like 2 years ago when I broke the tooth – upper back molar. I have just let it fester and pretend that I totally don’t mind eating solely on one side.
Or that is like TOTALLY FINE when it screams at me when I eat something cold.
Hot salty fries are not in that category and well, tequila makes me forget the whole ice situation in my Margie.
But it has got to the point now where my mouth constantly tastes like someone shat in it and MPS told me that it sorta kinda smells like that when I yawned, so I really need to do something about it cause I imagine that is what zombies smell like.
And while I am all for emulating awesome internet memery, I would rather my breath smelt like double rainbows and cupcakes than festering corpse.
So now I must pull up my big girl panties and go find a dentist.
Someone who has all the good drugs.
And doesn’t mind a whole lot of weeping and ‘stop OMG I AM NOT READY YET!’
And has lots and lots of painkillers.
And did I mention drugs?
Do you have any tips for me? What I should ask for? Who I should see?
Will you go in my stead?