Root Canal
Which kind of says it all, you know? Except, of course, that clearly I’m going to go on and say much more than that…
Last Friday night: intermittent toothache. You know, the kind of thing that makes you wonder if you got something stuck between your teeth. Except that after re-flossing for the fourth time, you clue into the notion that there’s something more going on. I wasn’t even completely sure what tooth it was that was bothering me.
It was hard to know just how seriously to take the thing. Sometimes it didn’t seem so bad Other times, it was hard to concentrate on anything else except how that portion of my mouth was feeling. By Sunday evening, I was ready to leave a message on our dentist’s answering machine. They called back Monday morning, and I an appointment to go in Thursday — “but call us up if it gets worse. I’m sure Dr. Page will come in early or stay late if you really need to see him.” (There are several reasons we really like our current dentist.)
And then Tuesday morning at 2:30, I woke up with my tooth feeling much worse. Couldn’t get back to sleep. Constant pain. Any kind of pressure made it worse — even just running my tongue over it. As did cold.
(Telling my older son about this, he reminded me of the bad joke: “When is it time to see the dentist? 2:30! [i.e., tooth-hurty].” Because, you know, there’s nothing like a touch of humor to make things seem better. Or not.)
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It’s remarkable just how much pain in one small body part can do to can ruin your ability to concentrate on anything else. After waking up, and while waiting for the dentist’s office to open, I tried all kinds of things to occupy my time and try to distract myself. A little work on a research report, though I won’t vouch for the quality of what I wrote. A little creative writing. Took a shower. Ate some yogurt. Read some books about medieval cities. Read some stories. Took ibuprofen and aspirin. Sat with my eyes closed and tried to make my brain reinterpret the pain as pressure. (This is something I remember reading about in a science fiction story years ago; it actually helps, believe it or not.)
About 5:00 I went outside for a walk. It was a gorgeous time for it: light in the sky but the sun not yet up, chorus of birdsong, very little traffic. A bit chilly. I hadn’t taken a sweater, so I wound up going back inside after about 15 minutes. Still, it was very nice. Not only distracting, but also a chance to burn off the nervous energy that background pain can translate into.
Around 6:30, I decided it was time to call the dentist’s office, though I was quite sure they wouldn’t be there yet. 7:30, they called me back, and told me they could fit me in at 8:30. And the rest is history. Three shots, or maybe four, to numb the tooth. (Our dentist subscribes to the theory that if you do it a little at a time, the pain is less. It seems to work.) Then a partial root canal, where they take off the top of the root and pack in stuff to pickle the rest, to use Dr. Page’s colorful phrase. A prescription of hydrocodone (generic for vicodin) and instructions to take lots of ibuprofen, plut another appointment for a little more than a week from now to dig out the rest of the root, if I understand the process correctly.
And now it’s Tuesday night. The novocaine wore off a long time ago. The area where my tooth was worked on is sore; bafflingly, the soft tissues under my jaw on that side are even sorer, especially down toward the front far away from where any action took place. It’s hard to swallow, and hard to spit, and even kind of hard to talk. Each hydrocodone provides an hour or two where the pain is ignorable. Sadly, I have to wait 3-4 hours between pills (I’ve taken three so far). I’ve been eating yogurt, and broth with little bitty pasta pieces that I can kind of let slide down my throat, and instant butterscotch pudding. Each time I have to swallow, I briefly cock my head to one side, which seems to make it a little easier. Soon, I get to go to bed — which will be its own kind of experience, since there’s no way for me to sleep that doesn’t put pressure on the swollen area under my jaw. (CPAP machine.) So I don’t expect a very restful sleep. (Later note: sadly, this prediction was correct.)
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I’m not very good at dealing with pain. I really have to wonder how I would have done in pioneer times, or the middle ages, or basically anytime prior to the last 50-plus years when we get to experience the benefits of modern dentistry. (Thinking about this yesterday, I briefly considered inserting a scene into the fantasy stories I’m working on in which a character has to deal with toothache without the benefits of modern medicine; however, I quickly realized that grittily realistic though this might be, it’s far too close to what we experience in everyday life to interest fantasy readers. There is nothing of the exotic or heroic in an aching tooth or jaw.)
Waiting for my chance to see the dentist, there were times I had the impulse to simply grab my tooth and yank it out. Get the pain over with in one major wash of agony. Of course, it wouldn’t have worked that way: one of the many reasons why I was not seriously tempted to try this. (Others include the fact that I’m a wimp — and that I seriously doubt I have the strength or tools to pull out a tooth, even were I to try.)
It’s hard to simply sit there and endure pain, even when there’s nothing else you can constructively do. I’m both deeply respectful and utterly appalled to remember that for many people, chronic pain is a way of life. How do they deal with it? It’s outside my current realm of understanding. Nor do I want to gain the firsthand experience to help me comprehend it better. Maybe it’s true, as God once said to Joseph Smith, that “all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good”; but I don’t find it in me to desire any more of this particular good. “Sufficient unto the day is the toothache thereof” — and hasten the time when this one is over.
Update: It turns out that in the wake of my root canal, I got a lymph gland (or possibly salivary gland) infection. Which explains part of why I did not start feeling better. Now I have three great big pills to take four times a day. “All these things shall give thee experience…”
