Please use the spell-checker before posting. You cannot spell, and you should have learned this by now, and started using the spell-checker in public places. It's like any other disgusting habit -- you may do it in private, and please keep it there.
Not much love,
I had wacky adventures at the dentist today. I don't think I was thinking particularly clearly, but I wound up at least accomplishing what I came in for, sort of.
Turns out that my top right front tooth has a very old cavity that has reached the nerve. Dr. J said he'd finish up with the filling in the tooth next door, and then his secretary could talk with me about my options. While I was still horizontal, he let her know that she'd need to discuss "R-T-C" with me. I'm geek, and I did my time as a parent. I know all about code phrases like that. Sure enough, she sat down next to me with a revised estimate of the revamp of my mouth. And, ow.
She pointed out that it could (and possibly should) be done in parts, with this part first, and then that, and then the other. And, in fact, they could get a start on the first part today, since I was already there, numbed up, and drilled. I looked at the prices and wiiiinced. See, I'm not so much worried over the total cost over time of reworking my mouth, because I am very fortunate in that my parents (well, Dad, specifically) are willing to help out when it comes to fun happy medical stuff.
However, I hadn't the foggiest what exactly was in the bank account, as there had been shuffling and bills and stuff. I'm very on top of what's in my primary bank account. I'm not so much current on the other one, the one that my parents have the access to. So how could I check the account balances? Aha! I had cellphone! I could ... call the parents! And they could use the handy-dandy DSL to look at my current balances (as they have access, of course, right?)
That plan started to go oddly as soon as Dad picked up the phone. I identified myself. "Surprise! Root canal!" I declared. (No, Dad is not hip to 'net-memes, and probably would not take well to the usual sort of "Surprise!" ... though it certainly does rather fit the situation.) There I am, numbed up, rolls of gauze in my mouth, a gaping hole in my front tooth, cheerily talking to this geezer on my cellphone about the options here. There was conferencing and attempting to communicate (not well, I think) and eventually (after several phone calls, several dropped calls, the realization that I'd left most of the money in savings and that was why the card was not performing as I had thought it should, an attempt to run the card on the amount of the first part of the root canal procedure, my roommate getting involved via the magic of a phone on vibrate and a missed call, another phone call coming through while I was horizontal and being given a temporary filling) things were settled, I got a temporary filling, and a return for more discomfort on Thursday.
Evidently this cavity is not just big, but old. Like, years. I didn't begin to see the discoloration of my tooth until sometime this year, not years before like Dr. J thought I should have been. There was a crack on the bottom. That crack's always been there. I didn't know that it was something that I should, you know, mention to my dentist. It was just my tooth, and there was that groove along the bottom. hcolleen said naughty dentist for not knowing that it needed a root canal before starting the drilling.
I just wonder what my childhood dentist was doing missing it, but I can't blame him for not responding to what I didn't say about the crack at the bottom of the tooth. First I didn't think to, but by the time I might have thought to ask him what was up with that, he lost my trust by lying to me about the night-guard. He said it was just until my jaw re-aligned, then he had the nerve to say that no, it was supposed to be permanent, and that he'd said so when I got it. I threw a fairly dignified tantrum and refused to wear it after that, because it was nasty and it hurt and I don't grind my teeth the way Mama does. A little, but nothing near that bad. Mama wasn't happy with me, the dentist wasn't happy with me, and I was fucking furious.
"Wackiness" does not even begin to describe it, I guess.
Throughout all this, I was reading Dangerous Angels, a compilation of all of Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat books. Those books are seriously demented, at a half-twist from both reality and places like de Lint's universe. de Lint's universe has its finger squarely on the pulse of all the things that make me tick. Block ... that series, at least, is far more teenage. But it's good.
I IMed Joshie when I was feeling in need of some sympathetic human contact. There's nothing like a cracked-out discussion of philosophy as relates to the lessons that I learn via dentist appointments to set my mood back on track.