Yeah ... so ... since I was looking for a reason to go back and see my future husband and dentist, Thursday night I bit down on a french fry and cracked my molar (lower right side-the very back one). A freaking french fry.
I called the next day and made an appt. I could have gotten in on Monday but I pushed it to Tuesday since I had the morning off and it wasn't giving me very much pain at that moment. Of course, I couldn't eat with it so I was chewing on the left side of my mouth, which is very disconcerting. It's not a balanced diet. Really. And the gum around the tooth steadily got infected, until last night at 1:30 am, I woke from the pain, had to take ibuprofen, and put frozen peas on my jaw with an ice cube inside my cheek.
Finally, this morning, I saw the dentist and the ultimate analysis, I may lose a tooth.
This is seriously bad news. I'm not old enough to lose teeth yet!!!
But when he's telling me this, that's not what I'm thinking. What I'm thinking is that I'm secretly elated that I have a reason to come back and see my dentist even MORE. The thought even crossed my mind to pop off the temporary crown every so often so I can come back and see him ALL the time.
Of course, I'm not gonna ... DO ... that. That's ... dangerous. I would ... NEVER ... do that.
never.
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