Posted May 20, 2014
Had a tooth that went bad on me. Like, anything gets near it and I'm at the point of screaming in pain. Went to the dentist, spending 50+ dollars in gasoline because the only dentist who'd take my insurance was an hour away. Don't drive, so had to get a ride on top of that.
Get to the dentist, and they come out with a mouthful of peanut butter crackers, the smell of which was so strong that it felt like the son of a bitch was trying to give my nostrils mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Got an X-ray, was then told that I needed to go to a surgeon. Got thirty seconds of their ever-so-precious time in exchange for the aforementioned cost, the guilt of feeling badly for the person who took the time to drive me there, and the additional guilt of the person's stress since they were on the verge of panicking due to being uncomfortable driving in the large city. Spent a total of five hours between getting ready, going, waiting, and getting lost a couple times.
Called the surgeon and was told that since they are one of the two clinics in the state that take my particular type of insurance that the wait time would be over a month. Got to then spend the month trying like hell to keep ANYTHING from touching the damaged tooth (and failing at that more than once, paying for said failures with bouts of screaming pain).
Finally got to the appointment. Was told two things you never wish to hear before an extraction - "super-long roots and dense bone". In other words, shorthand for "buckle up, Sparky, we're going to be taking a godsdamned jackhammer to your face today". Operation is completed, start to head back, anaesthetic starts to wear off about 45 minutes before I can get my prescription. Pain level increases to the point that I'm ready to start my own unwilling participant Fight Club in the middle of Walmart while waiting for some kind of relief, getting to repeatedly use the bathroom to spit out blood in the meantime.
After narrowly avoiding that, I go and take my pills. And they start to work, after roughly an hour. At that point, I find out that not only do the pills make me want to throw up, they have the delightful side effect of making me feel like I've just wallowed in a field of poison ivy. So now it's the choice of pain pills and trying to peel my flesh off one fingernail-width strip at a time, or basking in the joy of a massive, swollen, stitch-filled hole in my face.
BUT! There was one moment that someone might find amusing. Filling out the medical history form, marking No to every conceivable medical question aside from "have you ever found the idea of being sexually molested while unconscious from drug I.V.'s appealing?", I noticed one asking about mental health conditions. Have you ever had a breakdown, do you have anxiety, personality disorders, and so on. In the name of honesty, I marked a big fat whopping yes to pretty much everything pertaining to it.
The funny part is when the nurse comes in, asks me about the question, I tell her yes, explain a little, and then....I see the look on her face as she says, "But there's nothing on here about what kinds of medication you're on...." And I laugh. And then she looks at me again. And then I laugh some more. That was fun. Definitely the high point of the experience.
Additional - To clarify, the I.V. drip molestation question wasn't on there at all. If it were, I would have had to mark no to that as well. Not quite that desperate to make new friends.
Get to the dentist, and they come out with a mouthful of peanut butter crackers, the smell of which was so strong that it felt like the son of a bitch was trying to give my nostrils mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Got an X-ray, was then told that I needed to go to a surgeon. Got thirty seconds of their ever-so-precious time in exchange for the aforementioned cost, the guilt of feeling badly for the person who took the time to drive me there, and the additional guilt of the person's stress since they were on the verge of panicking due to being uncomfortable driving in the large city. Spent a total of five hours between getting ready, going, waiting, and getting lost a couple times.
Called the surgeon and was told that since they are one of the two clinics in the state that take my particular type of insurance that the wait time would be over a month. Got to then spend the month trying like hell to keep ANYTHING from touching the damaged tooth (and failing at that more than once, paying for said failures with bouts of screaming pain).
Finally got to the appointment. Was told two things you never wish to hear before an extraction - "super-long roots and dense bone". In other words, shorthand for "buckle up, Sparky, we're going to be taking a godsdamned jackhammer to your face today". Operation is completed, start to head back, anaesthetic starts to wear off about 45 minutes before I can get my prescription. Pain level increases to the point that I'm ready to start my own unwilling participant Fight Club in the middle of Walmart while waiting for some kind of relief, getting to repeatedly use the bathroom to spit out blood in the meantime.
After narrowly avoiding that, I go and take my pills. And they start to work, after roughly an hour. At that point, I find out that not only do the pills make me want to throw up, they have the delightful side effect of making me feel like I've just wallowed in a field of poison ivy. So now it's the choice of pain pills and trying to peel my flesh off one fingernail-width strip at a time, or basking in the joy of a massive, swollen, stitch-filled hole in my face.
BUT! There was one moment that someone might find amusing. Filling out the medical history form, marking No to every conceivable medical question aside from "have you ever found the idea of being sexually molested while unconscious from drug I.V.'s appealing?", I noticed one asking about mental health conditions. Have you ever had a breakdown, do you have anxiety, personality disorders, and so on. In the name of honesty, I marked a big fat whopping yes to pretty much everything pertaining to it.
The funny part is when the nurse comes in, asks me about the question, I tell her yes, explain a little, and then....I see the look on her face as she says, "But there's nothing on here about what kinds of medication you're on...." And I laugh. And then she looks at me again. And then I laugh some more. That was fun. Definitely the high point of the experience.
Additional - To clarify, the I.V. drip molestation question wasn't on there at all. If it were, I would have had to mark no to that as well. Not quite that desperate to make new friends.
Post edited May 20, 2014 by CarrionCrow