I've had a three day toothache, and it suuuuuuuuuuuucks. I'm, like, six seconds away from this number:
I've been trying to call my dentist, but there's no answer. Well, there's an answering MACHINE, but there's nobody who picks up the phone and says, "Hello, how may I ease your mouth pain today?"
So I took two hours off from school today and drove to the office. But guess what: nobody was there. Wha--? Is she out of business? Does she only have office hours one day a week? I DON'T KNOW.
I do know, however, that my crappy dental insurance says I have to go to her, only her, if I want them to help pay for the upkeep on my beautiful white shiny straight teeth. But around 2:30 this morning, when I was trying to figure out how I could perform a home tooth-ectomy using ice cubes and pliers, I decided that I would gladly put my entire savings account on the line if only someone, anyone, would make the pain stop stop please god stop.
So I went rogue. I stalked into a random dentist's office with my hand on my (swollen) face, and demanded to SEE A DENTAL PROFESSIONAL RIGHT NOW. Okay, maybe I asked politely while trying to move my lips as little as possible. Semantics.
I did not get a chance to float my personal theory about my toothache, which is that I am so amazingly intelligent that I spontaneously generated a fifth wisdom tooth, but I did learn that I don't have any cavities. I guess that's good, except that the dentist's actual diagnosis is, "I don't know."
I might have some sort of infection under my gums, and to that end, I'm going in next week for root planing, which sounds really painful. And if he doesn't find anything then, I'll just have to wait three months and see if the pain gets worse or better. Great.
The plus side? I also got some hydrocodone, which means I am going to have a goooooood night.