Marocharim Meets Holy Mouth-Man
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you may remember that I wrote something about an abscessed tooth a few months back. It’s only now that I realize how big a problem a single tooth could be, so much so that I may have to undergo oral surgery this weekend.
It’s a good thing I don’t Podcast, or else the little anti-Marocharim bloc somewhere in cyberspace (I never knew they actually existed: took me a long weekend to figure that out) would rejoice in the fact that it only takes a dentist to shut me up. I still have my fingers, of course, which means that the anthropomorphic cybernetic weasels would have to wish upon a vodun that I either get leprosy or hand-herpes.
I don’t know much about dentistry myself, although the dentist explained that oral surgery ain’t that bad. One of my molars have been so misaligned – braces weren’t able to save it – that it has to be removed by hook or by crook. As it seems, though, even massive doses of dental anaesthesia no longer work on me.
Normally, two vials of novocaine would be enough to conk you out and leave you with that puffy feeling in your mouth. Not for me, though: by the time the dentist tried to pry my tooth out after a controlled overdose of anaesthetic, my knuckles were turning white from pain. I swear, had I not taken a leak at the office, I would have wet my pants from the excruciating pain. So after a few more prods with that Freddy Krueger-like instrument, the dentist just gave up and slated me for oral surgery.
And… how much did my braces cost again?