Going to the dentist fills me with such abnormal amounts of dread, fear, and rage that I generally find it “easier” to wait until an Emergency! pops up to make the commitment. This means that those cleaning visits don’t happen ever, let alone every six months. While I was pregnant I had a toothache so massive I almost died. I made three appointments with the endodontist to get my root canal and I cancelled all three times. Surely I’m not his favorite patient. Right after Baby Moo was born I gathered my courage again to make another date with the devil dentist, but the pediatrician asked me to hold off until breast feeding was better established. Phew. Any excuse, really.

The toothache fades in and out for several months, but it is generally not a problem. I rarely do anything until the pain of staying the same is greater than the pain of change. And by pain I do not mean, “Ouch! That hurts! I better go to the dentist as I can’t chew on that tooth without a sharp, shooting pain. Let me get that looked at.” By pain I mean, “Holy Hell. I stopped eating on that throbbing side six months ago. I can’t see out of my left eye because my left upper tooth is killing me. I’m having excruciating volts of electricity shoot through my tooth into the bone every time I breathe through my mouth. Ow. Ow. Ow. I wish someone would stick bamboo skewers under my finger nails because I think that might take my mind off of my tooth.” I passed that stage a few weeks ago and decided that maybe is was time to make, and keep, my appointment. Read the rest of this entry »