That sucker was in there!

My dentist called me back this morning. He had an opening at 11:00.

I have had a genetic gum disease my whole life. It is most likely that I got it from my paternal grandfather who was able to eat thanks to a complete set of dentures.

I have written posts about the trials of gum surgery.

When I got in the chair, he immediately agreed with the earlier assessment…

I have a problem!

However, he said that a root canal wouldn’t help because most of the bone underneath the tooth is gone. (I don’t fully understand what I just wrote!)

He gave me a choice between pulling the tooth or another expensive, painful gum surgery that still might not save the tooth. Even if it did, it wouldn’t rebuild the bone that has been eaten away.

He left it up to me.

“Will I be able to eat?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s pull it.”

When he finished shooting the area with novacaine, tears were streaming down my cheeks

He then grabbed his pliars and started pulling.

The tooth didn’t budge.

He improved his bodily position and pulled again…hard. His arms started to shake.

The tooth didn’t budge.

“Are you sure you want to pull this tooth?”

After more discussion, I decided to stick with my original decision.

Once again, he picked up the pliars and gave it his best.

The tooth didn’t budge.

He broke out the drill. As the smell of burnt tooth (I hate that smell) filled the air, his confidence grew.

“OK, that should do it.”

He grabbed the pliars and pulled…

I don’t know if he was talking to me or my tooth but he started muttering while he was pulling, “Man, you are really put together well…You are really well built!”

The tooth still didn’t budge.

He drilled some more…

then pulled some more…

Nothing!

Now he was starting to get irritated, kind of like a mechanic who can’t get that one last bolt out.It was as if my tooth was challenging his manhood, taunting him…

“Is that all you got?…

I’ll bet you expect the fish to just jump in your boat when you go fishing too…

Come in here with that weak sauce…

Maybe you should get the nurse…she might be ablt to get me out!”

He grabbed the drill again a little faster than the previous two times and went to work. Did I ever tell you that I don’t like the smell of burnt tooth?

He grabbed the pliars this time with determination. That tooth is going to come out!

He pulled again. His arms started quivering again and finally, begrudgingly, my tooth gave up the ghost.

The nurse came around the corner just as he was raising it out of my mouth and said, “Wow, that’s a big one!”

He looked at the tooth and immediately said, “We made the right decision (to pull it)…I don’t know how…but we made the right decision.”

Now, back to the Vicodin.

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