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desperanceSo sometime between my waking and my rising this morning, I was struck by an awful prognostication: of course I wouldn't be seeing the dentist today. He's been on holiday for two weeks, and he's a dentist, he has money, he will have left the country and he won't have made it back, he'll be stranded in some exotic far-flung loveliness with no flights into Europe and I'll just have to go on hurting...
So I phoned 'em, first thing: and mirabile dictu, he was here. So up I go, and he sees me quickly, bless him; and then there is X-raying and examinating and murmurous discussion and a little bit of confusion between one tooth and another, and we are not entirely in agreement as to where the trouble is, but I'll go along with him because he's the professional. I would say "it's not going to hurt if he's wrong," but that is patent nonsense; right or wrong, of course it's going to hurt. And if he's wrong, he'll just have to do the other one too. Ouchie.
Anyway: root canal and backfilling it is. Apparently he can drill down through the crown, which is something of a relief because I wasn't looking forward to his removing the thing. But he can't do it till next week, so I have a course of antibiotics in the meantime (if the cause is a dead or dying tooth, as he believes, I'm not sure how or why antibiotics would help: but there is no question that they are helping, I've been self-medicating for days now with some leftover Amoxy and it's the only thing kept me from beating my fists bloody on his colleagues' door; which is why I thought the problem was infection of some kind, but what do I know?) and another week of barely-controlled pain to look forward to. Joy.
Also, still with the headache. The longer it goes on, the more sure I am that it is directly linked to the toothache; it just better bloody go away when the tooth is fixed, or I will be radically upset.
In the meantime, supper. I have potatoes and kohlrabi and celeriac; I have ham and cheese and mushrooms and milk and butter. I am tolerably confident that I can concoct some kind of comfort-food from this. (Does it still count as comfort food, if it's an original invention? Half of me thinks that comfort food needs by definition to be something you've been eating for generations. The other half reckons it's all about ingredients and textures and satiety, newness notwithstanding.)
So I phoned 'em, first thing: and mirabile dictu, he was here. So up I go, and he sees me quickly, bless him; and then there is X-raying and examinating and murmurous discussion and a little bit of confusion between one tooth and another, and we are not entirely in agreement as to where the trouble is, but I'll go along with him because he's the professional. I would say "it's not going to hurt if he's wrong," but that is patent nonsense; right or wrong, of course it's going to hurt. And if he's wrong, he'll just have to do the other one too. Ouchie.
Anyway: root canal and backfilling it is. Apparently he can drill down through the crown, which is something of a relief because I wasn't looking forward to his removing the thing. But he can't do it till next week, so I have a course of antibiotics in the meantime (if the cause is a dead or dying tooth, as he believes, I'm not sure how or why antibiotics would help: but there is no question that they are helping, I've been self-medicating for days now with some leftover Amoxy and it's the only thing kept me from beating my fists bloody on his colleagues' door; which is why I thought the problem was infection of some kind, but what do I know?) and another week of barely-controlled pain to look forward to. Joy.
Also, still with the headache. The longer it goes on, the more sure I am that it is directly linked to the toothache; it just better bloody go away when the tooth is fixed, or I will be radically upset.
In the meantime, supper. I have potatoes and kohlrabi and celeriac; I have ham and cheese and mushrooms and milk and butter. I am tolerably confident that I can concoct some kind of comfort-food from this. (Does it still count as comfort food, if it's an original invention? Half of me thinks that comfort food needs by definition to be something you've been eating for generations. The other half reckons it's all about ingredients and textures and satiety, newness notwithstanding.)