I'm great about doing the regular keeping-up-with-one's-health stuff. I see my doctor for my annual physical (okay, so that's mostly so she'll keep prescribing me the pill). I see my dentist twice a year, get my cleanings and renew my oft-broken promise to floss.
But when something actually could potentially be wrong, I hold back. Not sure why. When my back had problems, it took me weeks to finally give in and call a chiropractor — and that was only after an entire day of being unable to roll out of bed without extreme pain. (By the way: it is amazingly humiliating to be unable to tie one's own shoes. Or put one's own socks on.) So I guess it can be no surprise that when my wisdom tooth started acting up, I had to be harassed into making an appointment with my dentist.
I guess I figured that I could wait the pain out — I already had my regular cleaning scheduled for the 19th of this month, a few weeks didn't seem like long to wait. So what that I couldn't chew for the pain sometimes, and opening and closing my jaw was uncomfortable? I got a tattoo, dammit! Pain is nothing. Rawr.
So what pushed me over the edge to finally picking up the phone? My coworkers (conversation paraphrased):
IK: What if something happens where you get trapped in the building for some reason? An earthquake could happen, you'd be stuck here for three or four days with the pain, and we'd have to yank your tooth out for you.
IK: James, you'd help us remove a tooth, right?
JR: Sure! I think I've got some needle-nose pliers around here somewhere.
Me: Actually, we've got a lot of dull scissors over there. You could use those to get my teeth out, I'm sure they'd work just fine.
IK: Sounds like a plan to me. We've got hand sanitizer, too, so it'd all be completely sterile.
End result, I've got a prescription for Amoxicillin, an appointment for extraction this Friday afternoon, and my plans for Friday evening completely shot. [By the way, you should go in my place: Anton Barbeau is completely hilarious and a fantastic singer-songwriter. This is the first time he's been in SF (that I know of) in years and I'm missing it. Can my week get any more evil?] (Don't answer that.)
I'm really hoping that this week is setting the low bar for the year. This, coupled with the cough that won't die, the unnoticed dumping, and the PMS, means I'm a sobbing mess all over the place. It can only get better from here, right?
The plus side:
- They'll be taking a "panorex" X-ray thingy of my head, which will not only show my teeth and their roots, but also the nerves in my jaw and my mandibular joints. The nerdy part of me is excited, and I hope they'll give me a copy to take home and frame. Or at least email me something I can use as my Windows wallpaper at the office.
- Maybe I'll get to take my teeth home with me.
- Maybe there will be pain meds involved that I can enjoy the entire weekend by myself. Think of the blogging opportunities!
- I've already got a batch of rice pudding I've made for myself sitting in the fridge. I should make a batch of Jell-O tomorrow night, too.
- I have an excuse to stay home all weekend and just watch Netflix. Well, okay, maybe I would have done that, anyway, but now I don't have to feel guilty about it!
I'll put it out here now: offerings of chicken broth and Jamba Juice runs would not be turned away.