The toof!

I broke a tooth. Like, 2 1/2 years ago.

ASIDE: This whole breaking a tooth thing makes me feel like a hillbilly. Yes, I brush my teeth. Yes I floss (most of the time). I am 31 years old. I should not have broken teeth. Alas, I grind. And grinding weakens your teeth, and then they break. Who knew?

Anyway, I broke this tooth like 2 1/2 years ago, but I've been putting off getting it fixed. This is the same tooth I broke eons ago, and I had a crown put on. Now it's broken at the nub. The tooth had to go.

ASIDE: I hate going to the dentist. Vehemently. I go anyway, for all my cleanings and stuff, but I hate it. Mostly I don't like the taste of blood in my mouth. And the sound of the drill.

I managed to avoid having the tooth pulled because I was either a) trying to get pregnant or b) pregnant for, like, 3 years. So I couldn't have x-rays. So I couldn't get the tooth pulled. But finally, the jig was up.

I had a bad feeling about having this tooth pulled, even though the hygenists at my dentist's office encouraged Dr. Hirsch to send me to "the hunky one," namely my new oral surgeon, Dr. Maslo. He was in fact hunky, but this didn't make me feel any better as I fretted over the consent forms, which described in intimate detail gruesome potential side effects including, but not limited to, unending pain, nerve damage and/or the permanent loss of my sense of smell.

The pulling itself went fine. It was over before I knew it, really. But now I'm bleeding. Bleeding, and eating jello, and typing. And I'm a little sweaty. And I think I might throw up.

And it hurts like a bitch.

I knew this was a bad idea.