A part of me died today. And I have to say it was one of those deaths that people euphemistically refer to as a blessing. In fact, it was one of those Kevorkian situations in which the patient actively seeks death as a preferable option to a life of constant, unremitting pain.
The signs had been there for months. Just a twinge or two at first, but enough to send me in for medical attention. To my surprise the situation turned out to be much more serious than I'd had any reason to expect. We'll do all we can, the doctor said, but it might not be enough. The fix lasted 8 months. And then, just 2 days ago, in a period of about half an hour, all hell broke loose. I couldn't swallow enough Advil to keep the pain under control. Still, I hesitated to give in. Maybe if I waited just a little longer, things would get better. But instead things only got worse. So I made the appointment. The first opening was Thursday morning, and this was Monday morning. Within a few hours, I called back to say Thursday wouldn't be soon enough. Well, you could come in tomorrow, the scheduler said, if you're willing to see a different doctor. Was she kidding? I was willing to see a chimpanzee in a white coat if he could stop the pain.
So this afternoon, I put myself at the mercy of a man I'd never met but quickly grew to love. I'd always thought a root canal would be a bad thing, I told him when it was all over. But this was a good thing. What a great job you have; people come to see you in serious pain, and you can help them. Yes, he said. So many dentists nowadays want to do cosmetic stuff, but I've always preferred the idea of curing disease. Good choice, I thought. But alas poor tooth #20; it seems I hardly knew ye.
