The Saga of the Premolar

Doing: Suffering with sore face - ow, my toof!!
Reading: Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer (it's getting juicy now!)
Watching: Nodame Cantabile (adorable anime about a music conservatory in Tokyo - it's me all over!)

Move over Spanish Inquisition - here come the dentists.

Well, here I sit propped up in bed, suffering in my jocks after a horrible day of dental torture yesterday. After years of avoiding the dentist (cost being the biggest deterrent) I finally went along last year, only to discover two cavities. The first one was easily filled and happily done, but the second one (my sad little upper right second premolar) was very angry indeed, and refused to be drilled or filled without excruciating pain. My lovely dentist (whom, though I've just likened members of his profession to 15th century torture-mongers, is a splendid, gentle chap) told me to go away for a while and "hope the tooth dies". I should be so lucky.

Cut to six months later, and my angry little tooth is now irate, barking at me constantly to "Get thee to a dentist!" (quite the eloquent Shakespearean, despite his shonky dentine). I acquiesced, and took myself along to the doc, who assured me he could numb the tooth no matter what so he could "go in there" and perform a root canal, which apparently is the only course of action for such a cantankerous beast.

So in I go, bolstered by my well-wishing friends and family, sucking up my bravery to endure it with an iron stomach and a bare minimum of girlish weeping. The doc proceeds to put four or five healthy needles full of local anaesthetic in and around my upper jaw (including right into the roof of my mouth. That one tickled. *sobs*). The drilling commences, only to be interrupted by an enormous yelp of pain as they hit the "hot zone". It seems my tooth, much like Ozzy Osbourne, cannot be killed by conventional weapons.

So I after further (unbelievably painful) prodding and patching I am send off to see a specialist in Fullarton. It seems this is only the third time in his career my dentist has encountered a tooth he just couldn't numb enough to work on. Lucky me!! The specialist is a grand fellow and, after a cursory poke-around and xray, tells me I have two options - an attempt to work on the tooth with lots more needles and still a fair amount of pain, or a serious all-in-one-hit operation with an anaesthetist and everything. Suffice to say I chose the latter. So I'm all booked in for next week, and though they say the whole "twilight drug" thing is well fun I'm still a little scared...

Anyway, the point of this whole post is two fold - a big vent to the universe cursing my angry little toofypeg, and an even bigger shout-out to all you candy-munchers... GET THEE TO A DENTIST!!!

*hugs and ouches*

Buggs x