After heading south with this infection yesterday and getting really sick, I had a Waterloo moment with my tooth and served it eviction papers. I’m done pledging my troth to one so unfaithful.
I did some research on troublesome root canals and they can continue to infect your body through tiny things called tubules even after retreatment. This is what you come to me for: cutting edge dental lingo. These tubules can allow infection to do what my infection has done – travel around your body, especially nearby structures, and they can be hard to get rid of. I’m on my second round of antibiotics and you know me and medicine. We’re like….
We stay away from each other if we can. We fight. It tends to win.
So, rather than plunk down hundreds this morning for a mere chance at success, I said good-bye to the first of my errant teeth for a $50 co-pay. With any luck, it’ll be the last. I believe you should hang on to friends and teeth until they absolutely prove rotten. But when you finally accept reality and let go, it’s a relief.
Bo drove me – it’s so nice to let yourself be pampered a little and not have to show up and drive yourself to everything, like heart surgery. Well, okay. It wasn’t heart surgery but I did drive myself home from major breast surgery. I had a duct removed (all men turn away here and throw up……). I was bleeding from a nipple and they had to lay me open, remove the duct, and stitch me up. They said it was a precancerous condition and couldn’t be ignored. Now, if you can imagine this, they shot me up with Versed which is supposed to knock you out and make you remember nothing. It does NOT have that affect on me. I talked like a magpie through the whole surgery. The last thing I remember was the surgeon telling the anesthesiologist, “For the love of all that’s decent! Shut that woman up and give her more!” Some people just CAN’T appreciate a good conversation.
Then they woke me up and made me prove I had a ride home. They made me give them a visual. They told me not to drive for a few weeks (breast movement and all that.) However, I had driven myself there and now there would be a car left and that seemed to be a problem so, I did what we women do. I got in the car and drove home.
Where was I?
Oh yeah, milking my tooth removal (all references to milking and breasts is purely coincidental – no animals were harmed in the making of this sentence.) I told Bo the oral surgeon said I require six weeks of bed rest, excessive milk shakes, and no lifting for at least a year. Bo added that she felt I should even demand complete control over the remote. It brought a tear to my eye. I raised her right…….(sniff……).
So, here’s where you come in. My little follower button? The one over there? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->? It has been stuck. Am I boring? (Don’t answer that.) Does no one new come here? I see names I don’t recognize in my comments so I’m thinkin’ maybe you just haven’t thought about signing up. Now that I’m desperately injured and laid-up, it would bring me great cheer if you would de-lurk, as it were, and sign up to follow. It's inCREDibly easy if you already follow other blogs or have a Google account. If not, you have to sign up for one and create a password. I guess that can be a pain in the posterior but consider me and my pathetic plight. Go ahead, make my day. Or my dinner. Or my massage appointment.
P.S. Sheryl asks: "Was it a front tooth?" That picture would kinda make you think so, huh? No, it was the last one in the back, on the bottom. I'm sure no one will notice but me. This picture is false advertising. I'm bling-less!