Argh. Remind me to never have another root canal done.
I mean, I've had teeth pulled before--all my wisdom teeth, one molar and once, when I was 12, I had a front tooth pulled which grew in behind my other lower front teeth (by then I was so tired of hearing other kids ask, "Why do you have a tooth back there?"). A piece of cake, those extractions.
But this root canal tooth! When Tom and I got into the car after the extraction, I asked him how long I was with the oral surgeon. He said, "Oh, probably around 40 minutes." I replied, "Forty minutes?! Felt more like 3 days." What with all the digging, prodding, zoom-zoom filing, pushing upward on the tooth (what was with that? Shouldn't she have just pulled down on it?) and the splintering of the thing into pieces. Ick. (At one point she sighed, "Strong bone, weak tooth." Rather a good news/bad news thing.)
Oh my, all the prayers and promises I made while lying back in that chair! "Just get me through this, Lord, and I promise I will floss every single day for the rest of my life." I did not promise I'll never eat sugar again. I know better than to knowingly lie to God.
But anyway, the annoying, infected tooth is out. Gone forever. And more? Six hours later I'm still not feeling one smidgen of pain. The oral surgeon even gave me two stitches afterward and a prescription for some powerful pain killers if I need them. But no pain--not yet. I feel blessed.
It felt so wonderful to arrive back home, change clothes and snuggle into the couch. If I didn't love our home before, I loved it at that moment.
And for any of you who said a little prayer when I mentioned that this day would come, well, thanks so much. While lying back in that dental chair I thought of all you readers of my blog and what I would tell you about this latest adventure--and I felt grateful that I have such a kind, sweet audience who will actually care to read my tooth-pulling drivel because you care about me. Thank-you for that.