That will be me tomorrow. I have a tooth that either needs removed or it needs removed. If I'm very lucky, it will need removed. Oh, wait. Yeah. There is no lucky.
Could not resist using Dies Irae here. Can you blame me?
Actually, lucky will mean I just need ONE tooth removed and not this tooth plus its friend that never listened to its tooth mom when she said, "And if all your friends decides to get pulled by the dentist, would you too?" Instead, this friend tooth decided it would be awesome to try cavities and now it's a junkie and chasing the dragon and it will take way more than some fluoride rinse to bring it back from the crack den where it lives now.
In this case, the pain won't be from the dental work, but from the price tag. No dental insurance plus tiny library wages (that keep me solvent enough that I don't have to wait in line for government cheese but not solvent enough for recreational dental medical procedures) mean Laura is stressed. Stressed enough that I'm thinking of what I would like more, teeth that can chew food or food to eat.
It's times like these that I'm incredibly grateful for a family that WANTS me to live with them instead of a family that insists I have an apartment of my own when I can't afford it. Thanks to my family, I can pay for a sizable chunk of this work before I start sobbing uncontrollably into the last soggy Kleenex in the box because I can't afford to refresh my tissue supply.
I'll let you know what the plan is when I know. And I'll try to convince my family to take video of me coming out of anesthesia when the tooth-pulling actually takes place, so you'll get a laugh out of this situation. One of us should get a laugh out of this.