I'm Terrified

I did it, I made the appointment yesterday, I have a Monday appointment with my dentist, Drew Luke Jones. On the face this is not such a big deal for normal people but for me it world impacting. I am almost phobic when it comes to dental intervention—long time follower might remember a blog back in 2007 when I outlined a single event in the distant past which, I believe, has effected me the rest of my life. The Monday appointment is for an extraction which should have happened more then five years ago.

I am embarrassed to see the doc but I have to I have to have this done to circumvent an oral catastrophe I fear is looming and could occur any day. As I wrote earlier this tooth was doomed years ago. The tooth is a molar in the far reaches of my mouth, way in the back, totally difficult for the dentist to work but he managed to fill cavities over the years until finally he said it was time for it too come out. The molar does not align any tooth above—that moral being taken years earlier, so there is no good reason to keep the tooth which can only cause problems. In fact, Drew even wrote the referral to an oral surgeon, which I wish I had complied with, and turned me loose. I just could not muster the will to have the minor procedure done. I am embarrassed because he is going to see me and realize how big a coward I really am.

I am really surprised at how long I have put this appointment off. Drew has done excellent work over the years. After the “temporary” fix Dew did years ago, the pain subsided and finally ceased altogether—the pain did return every once in a while but I would combat the pain with Ibuprofen, the pain would leave and I would go on my way.

This was a pattern I could live with thinking that when the pain went nova I would have the procedure done. The pain began returning a couple weeks ago, just a little irritation at first, the significant enough to interrupt my sleep and day to day life. Then came the opportunity for Dianne to fly back to Louisiana to visit with her family for a week—I would be alone. I know this is when the tooth would go not only nova but super nova, a pain so exquisite not even Ibuprofen could cut. So I fessed up to my wife I was suffering and she coaxed and supported me into making the appointment. Of course now the dentist wants to pull the molar himself—there is no record of him ever referring me to an oral surgeon. 45 minutes, that is what his nurse says it will take, and he will use just the usual anesthetic. I figured this is my grief for beating the tooth reaper this long.

Monday at 12:30 the extraction is supposed to take pace—this should be ample time to heal before Dianne flies out on the following Wednesday and I'll be on my own. I can do this, I can sit in the chair and let Drew reach into the back of my mouth with that medieval torture device and tear out the corrupt piece of bone and set me free.