Molar misery, me


The soothsayer looked at me sadly.

“There will be many, many visits to the dentist in your future.”

Well, I’m sure that’s what she would have said, if I’d consulted a soothsayer.

I was just looking at the remnants of my back molar sitting beside my chair. One piece looks like a baby tooth!

It’s been hurting for a week or so, just a little twinge, and I thought, hmmm, should go to the dentist. Now, it’s a must visit next week. I’ve been pretty luck over the years. I have not yet had to endure a root canal, just a few fillings, here and there. If there’s a root canal in my future, I’m thinking, load me up with Atavan and get out the pliers. Why not? You can’t see that tooth and I’m sure I won’t miss it.

Hopefully, the dentist can fill it. But I’m not willing to fork out a grand or so for a crown on something that will probably distinegrate anyway. That’s old people thinking, right? A youngin’ would be horrified — I would have been horrified–  at the prospect of pulling a tooth instead of trying to save it.

Oh, well. Life’s too short to worry about such things.

At times like this, I wish I had dental insurance. If I still held a Great West Life card, I’d probably put up with multiple procedures, but I’m a freelancer. I’m always strapped for cash. So best to keep it simple.

This is me, over analyzing again. As my Facebook friend Christine said: “Make sure you have lots of vodka to keep it sterile.”

That’s the ticket!

I’m not going to let a little molar get in the way of a fantabulous Canada Day Weekend.

I’ll just stay on the liquids.

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