So a bunch of things happened: we did NOT get that car in order to avoid the payment and/or depleting our cash reserves, met a bunch of new friends through work, moved up a little in the career, went back to Michigan for a visit, just to name a few. I’ll try to post more regularly since I kind of have more time now.

As you might know, I am from Eastern Europe, which means I was raised in a framework of poor dental hygiene. Don’t get me wrong, my parents made sure that brushing my teeth every night became a habit, but never really knew anything about gum maintenance, hygienic cleaning, or flossing. Couple that with bad dental genes, and you get me, a guy with a good grille, but shitty molars.

A couple of years ago, I came around and developed a dental plan involving fillings, crowns, and implants, but it was kind of too late. A bunch of teeth had to come out courtesy of crazy Ukrainian/Polish/Hungarian dentists who LOVED to root-canal teeth, leave tools in them, fill them with amalgam, and NOT “crown” them. So a few teeth came out, and a few got filled with REALLY deep fillings.

Speaking of those deep fillings … They tend to run a little too close to the pulp and the nerves, which means if you have a deep filling, it’s pretty much like having a ticking time bomb in your mouth. That’s right. A time bomb whose payload is PAIN.

Teeth constantly shift and travel. Apparently, during one of them shifts and travels, something detonated one of my little time bombs, and it EXPLODED. And by “exploded” I don’t mean “o-o-o, my tooth hurts“. I mean, “somebody put me out of my misery” kind of pain you see in the movies. I thought I was Mr. Orange, on the floor, dying; only instead of being shot in the stomach, I thought I head a headwound the diameter of a CD … not to mention the related pain in the shoulders, back, right leg, and right arm.

Four days of that, I shit you not. My dentist said he could not perform a root canal, and that I needed an endodontist due to the tooth’s complex anatomy. The only available endodontist could fit me in five days, regardless of my pleading for an earlier appointment. Extracting the tooth was out of the question — I had too many of my teeth extracted already. I requested some Hydrocodone, got some ice packs, sleeping pills, called into work, marked “Tuesday” with a thick red marker on the calendar, and barricaded myself in the house.

Dostoevsky was on to something. Suffering has its merits. At the very least, it makes you appreciate NOT BEING IN PAIN for 96 hours straight. It takes you on a weird trip, during which you realize with dread that your Mickey Mouse generic substitute for Vicodin wasn’t really designed for the kind of pain you’re experiencing. During the middle of the trip, you’re still trying to be creative and find ways to numb the pain a little — do some pushups, sleep while sitting up, rinse the mouth with salty water. However, towards the end of the trip, you understand that it’s just you and your pain, and no one can possibly help you at that particular time. Very liberating stuff, folks.

So I got everything taken care of — the tooth will be saved, nothing hurts any more. I got a kick out of the endodontist (a good-looking lady) doing a double take: “You did what? Do you know that you basically waited until your nerves … DIED?” Too bad you could not fit me in earlier, you crazy woman.

Of course, then I got the $1,150 bill, of which the insurance will cover a whopping $180. Makes you appreciate Michael Moore’s “Sicko“. Please go see it, I beg of you.