The inside of my mouth is packed with gauze. I have a bag of ice on my face. The inside of my mouth tastes like an Listerine enema, my eyes are drooping and the Novocain is just starting to wear off. I have breakfast scheduled for tomorrow morning at the Waffle House and I am thinking to myself…Self, what the hell were you thinking?
If you read my last two blogs, you also know that I am probably the only person, in the history of tooth decay who was turned down for two root canals and a tooth extraction in one day. And that would have been a good day.
This morning, bright and early, my #30 molar took it’s final bite and then was promptly extracted. Unlike it’s twin sister on the other side who bit the bullet 9 years ago, this tooth was taken out by a crack Doc not a crack pot, and the whole experience was, at least to this point, rather uneventful. Except for the noise. The cracking of teeth inside one’s mouth is somewhat unsettling but at least I was able to maintain control of my bodily functions.
So where do we go from here? I don’t know about we, but I’m going to the couch. Ouch.