So I had been having this weird sort of pain in my tooth (#7, if you must know) when I brushed. A wierd sort of “icepick to the brain through my nose” sort of pain. So I went to the dentist (even though the pain had stopped), and she leaned me back in the chair and began saying things like “Hmmm…” and “Uh huh…” and “Interesting…” She popped the seat back up and said, “We’re going to get an x-ray of that” and then everyone began moving sort of quickly.
Cut to the chase: I had a “condition” called root resorption, whereby the body, for as-yet-unknown reasons, decides it wants the tooth back, and begins dissolving it from the inside. Odd, not understood, and fairly rare.
And that was how I came to be sitting in the chair of the endodontist, having a root canal, a mere 24 hours later. He was saying things like “Hmmm…” and “Interesting…” and “$700, please.”
Fast forward another few hours to about 1:30am, when I woke up in excruciating pain. “From the tooth,” you’re wondering? “No,” says I. “from the kidney stone.”
So, with Ma in her kerchief and the kids dreaming about sugar plums, I did a quick search on WebMD for the “call you doctor immediately” signs related to kidney stones. I had every condition on the list. So I told Char I was leaving and drove myself to the emergency room. Gingerly, but quickly.
Fast forward another few hours, a dose of toridal and two doses of morphine, an xray and an MRI (why, I haven’t the foggiest idea), and the doctor is standing over me saying things like “Hmmm…” and “Interesting…” and “Go home, take some Vicodin, and this too, shall pass.”
Oh, and they also said, “$3,600, please.”
The moral of this story? I’m not sure. How about: “Drink cranberry juice”.