A couple of weeks ago, I broke a tooth.
Actually, it probably happened long before that. But I noticed it on one Sunday morning, when Vicky and I were eating breakfast. I bit into some eggs… and I heard a crunch.
I thought it was an egg shell.
I swear, the eggs were not hard or anything. They were actually quite good, nice and fluffy.
Said crunch was not from an eggshell. When I pulled out the offending bit, I realized it must have been a tooth. And when I felt about in my mouth with my tongue, I found one of my bottom molars split like, well, anything in a Roland Emmerich film.
Vicky was certain that I’d cracked the tooth all the way down to the nub. “You’re going to need a crown. Probably a root canal. You’re going to need a root canal and a crown. It’ll probably be pretty severe. You may lose a tooth.”
I was almost expecting to hear her tell me that my jaw would have to go.
When I finally made it to the dentist a few days later, however… after days of paranoid worrying, my dentist said I’d be fine. She said she could fill it and repair it.
And sure enough, she did!
I mean, the procedure took several hours and it was all quite painful. (I’m still not sure how the hot poker on my feet helped.) In the end, my tooth was fine, perfectly repaired.
The Novocain wore off in time and I was back to chewing – if with a molar that felt much larger than before. I tried to ignore it.
… that is, I tried to ignore it until said tooth took a bite out of my cheek!
I heard a loud crunch, and screamed in agony as my mouth filled with blood. Soon, though, the bleeding stopped and the pain subsided.
A flap of skin hung loose in my mouth.
“You’ll have to bite it off,” Vicky said. “Just chew off the rest. Don’t be a wimp.”
… this is my life, folks. Kafka by way of "Now spit"...