This begins a multi-part, comprehensive documentation of the suffering I've incurred since my maxillary lateral incisor abscess became acute (aww!) one week ago and sent me on an odyssey of pain so searing, so visceral, my outlook on life has been forever changed.
Day 1 - The pus, my god the pus!
Naah, I'm just yanking your chains. I wouldn't subject my dear blog friends to that level of teeth grinding and navel gazing. Suffice it to say, it hurt. Continues to hurt since, even post-root canal, the cyst remains around the root. A pulsing sac of puss adding pressure and sensitivity to the entire micro skeletal system. The largest cyst, by the way, my dentist (Dr. Vinnie Boombatz) said he'd ever seen on an x-ray. Of course, upon making that comment on Friday, it didn't inspire him to do something rash like, say, prescribe pain medication! Instead he sent me home with some low dose antibiotics and said it would get better. So I stuck it out and sucked it up this weekend. No, that doesn?t mean I was on a Vikings Cruise around Lake Minnetonka. It means I suffered on, in the hope the OTC acetaminophen would be enough to provide solace until the antibiotics reduced the infection and got me to the root canal on Tuesday. In short, that hope proved to be in vain.
Monday morning I got in with an emergency appointment, got the tooth drained as much as possible, and got a prescription for some high octane antibiotics and for some of Bret Favre's former little helpers, Vicodin. And with that, I knew my immediate travails would be over. No more dull, achy days and excruciating, sleepless nights. It would be back to normal.
Better than normal, actually. On Monday afternoon I found myself on the couch, wearing sweat pants, laughing at the thought of work, hopped up on chemicals, and watching TV. I felt like I was on an episode of MTV Cribs. You know, the scene where the rapper or professional athlete takes you from his pole dancing area into the kitchen to show where he keeps the Kristal and popsicles. As the camera trails by, for a split second you see one or two blurry guys from his entourage in the background lounging on the couch or "kickin? it". For one beautiful day, that was me!
True story, within 30 seconds of the pain subsiding and me flipping on the cable I stumbled onto USA Network, showing ... Scarface. Can you imagine that, in the middle of a work day, Scarface is playing on a basic cable outlet. America, what a country, for a hop head.
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