Warning.
Danger, Will Robinson.
There is some serious gross-out further down in this post.
I won't get upset if you choose to stop now, I promise.
One bright and shiny day when I was 10, I got into a bike race with one of the boys from down the street. (There were only four kids in the neighborhood ... my kid brother and me, and two brothers down the way.) I was actually winning, and turned my head to look over my left shoulder to see just how far behind he was. Unfortunately, my hands/arms moved in opposition, and I steered without looking bang into a curb. From there, I was catapulted ass-over-teakettle into the precious little rock garden out in front of the house three doors down from ours, where I landed face-first on some lovely big sharp-ish rocks, breaking off one of my "grown-up" teeth at the gumline. The pediatric dentist slapped some dental Bond-O kind of stuff on it and said, "That oughta hold it for a while."
Seventeen years later, I had a massive toothache. It seems that although whatever my parents paid that dentist was likely one of the best deals they ever got as far as I was concerned, the roots of the injured tooth had spent all this time gunking. The dentist I saw in my late 20s thought at first that it might be a tumor when she saw it on the panoramic X-ray, but no, it was just a really big abscess, cause for the first of many root canals on that tooth.
Flash forward to now. I've got a crown on that tooth, and it's been bugging me for the last couple of months. (Yeah, it's a temporary crown that's been there for three years and was supposed to be changed to a permanent one three months after the temporary was done, but when you have three children and eight companies and God knows how many clients plus household stuff like laundry and dishes and cooking and paying bills and such, you tend to kind of put yourself last most of the time. I kept meaning to get it fixed to the perm one, but never did. Here's my catalyst, though.)
This damn tooth has been hurting somewhat for at least three weeks. I've been able to keep everything on an even keel by ingesting copious amounts of Tylenol and Motrin, but yesterday was just more than I could take (or more than the meds could knock back, whichever). I made an appointment to see an after-hours-only dentist recommended to me by my dear friend Wendy The Title Goddess; I rang her on Tuesday afternoon but the first spot she had was Thursday evening. I lived through Wednesday, but only just.
Thursday morning I woke up to a really wild surprise. (PLEASE make sure you are seated and have put down all beverages.) It ain't pretty, and it ain't comfy. (Ick Warning!!) This is another massive abscess ... and it's broken through whatever little membrane there is between the roots of each tooth and escaped into the canine tooth region, which is how it got all up under my eye, over my top lip, and over my cheekbone to within about an inch of my ear. Worst of all, it makes me look old and tired and not very happy.
One bright and shiny day when I was 10, I got into a bike race with one of the boys from down the street. (There were only four kids in the neighborhood ... my kid brother and me, and two brothers down the way.) I was actually winning, and turned my head to look over my left shoulder to see just how far behind he was. Unfortunately, my hands/arms moved in opposition, and I steered without looking bang into a curb. From there, I was catapulted ass-over-teakettle into the precious little rock garden out in front of the house three doors down from ours, where I landed face-first on some lovely big sharp-ish rocks, breaking off one of my "grown-up" teeth at the gumline. The pediatric dentist slapped some dental Bond-O kind of stuff on it and said, "That oughta hold it for a while."
Seventeen years later, I had a massive toothache. It seems that although whatever my parents paid that dentist was likely one of the best deals they ever got as far as I was concerned, the roots of the injured tooth had spent all this time gunking. The dentist I saw in my late 20s thought at first that it might be a tumor when she saw it on the panoramic X-ray, but no, it was just a really big abscess, cause for the first of many root canals on that tooth.
Flash forward to now. I've got a crown on that tooth, and it's been bugging me for the last couple of months. (Yeah, it's a temporary crown that's been there for three years and was supposed to be changed to a permanent one three months after the temporary was done, but when you have three children and eight companies and God knows how many clients plus household stuff like laundry and dishes and cooking and paying bills and such, you tend to kind of put yourself last most of the time. I kept meaning to get it fixed to the perm one, but never did. Here's my catalyst, though.)
This damn tooth has been hurting somewhat for at least three weeks. I've been able to keep everything on an even keel by ingesting copious amounts of Tylenol and Motrin, but yesterday was just more than I could take (or more than the meds could knock back, whichever). I made an appointment to see an after-hours-only dentist recommended to me by my dear friend Wendy The Title Goddess; I rang her on Tuesday afternoon but the first spot she had was Thursday evening. I lived through Wednesday, but only just.
Thursday morning I woke up to a really wild surprise. (PLEASE make sure you are seated and have put down all beverages.) It ain't pretty, and it ain't comfy. (Ick Warning!!) This is another massive abscess ... and it's broken through whatever little membrane there is between the roots of each tooth and escaped into the canine tooth region, which is how it got all up under my eye, over my top lip, and over my cheekbone to within about an inch of my ear. Worst of all, it makes me look old and tired and not very happy.
I called my friend Lars. Lars is a prosthodontist (a prosthodontist is a dentist who specializes in prosthodontics, the specialty of implant, esthetic and reconstructive dentistry ... cosmetic dentistry, implants and joint problems all fall under the field of prosthodontics). I 'splained to him like I've 'splained to you, and he bade me show up pronto-pup-quick, which I did. I got lovely nitrous oxide and four shots -- two to numb, one to numb and to kill infection, and one just to kill infection -- and Lars started carving. I already knew I was one of the weirdest people on the planet, and you guys know it too, but add in to your standing knowledge the fact that I LOVE ROOT CANALS and you'll see just how off I truly am. Lars is going to fix the whole thing over time (the "Rome wasn't built in a day" theory -- and he's not jerking me for cash, either ... today's enterprise only cost me very little, including the X-rays, and I was there for nigh on three hours), and I will (hopefully) have the smile I've never had but always wanted.
Lars has a son, Harrison, who was in Kendall's kindergarten class last year and is in Kieran's Cub Scout den this year. Lars is the committed grown-up that comes to the meetings with Harrison, so I know him pretty well from that. His wife Vicki is one of the most wonderful women I've ever had the pleasure to know (and privilege of calling friend); she was the class mom for Kendall's class last year, is a class mom again this year, and helped me host a baby shower in October for Mrs. Crain (Kendall and Harrison's kindergarten teacher, who had twins to add to her two other children). She is a hoot and a love and I adore her. The picture below is of Lars and Harrison at our first Cub Scout meeting; the picture after that is of Vicki (she's on the left; Rachel is on the right in orange, and she's another gloriously cool woman, but that's another story for another time).
So ... now I feel a little bit better. The swelling is still fairly pronounced, and I can still feel the mass of pus (and it moves around, which is beyond gross ... but if it moves up too close to my eye, it squishes tears out of the tear ducts, so I have to encourage it further south toward my nose ... eeeuuuwww factor 200), but the Darvocet is helping and I'm going to bed soon.
Much love to all of you ... sorry about the photos ... hopefully I'll have another picture to send you in a year or so with me sporting a brilliant, dazzling smile!
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