As I write this under the influence of vicodin, I would like to reflect on a loss that was both filled with relief and sadness-much like the death of a mother-in-law. I need closure, and will be addressing my extracted upper molar. You caused me a lot of pain buddy! For 3 days, I spent feebly cursing you as I attempted in vain to feed my body or breathe some much-needed air. In addition to your insistence that I starve to death, you didn't want me to enjoy reading or writing as you made it abundantly clear that you wanted my full undivided attention, and were more than happy that I remained ignorant. You sadistic f*cker. As I downed handfuls of ibuprofen, I felt you were mocking my efforts to diminish the pain by lulling me into a false sense of peace- then wham! you turn on the torture meter at full strength. Jerk!
I finally submitted to your will and went to the dentist. I don't know if you heard the conversation, as the local sedation was quickly setting in- but you were very quiet, you no doubt felt like a nervous canine at the vet, wondering if his balls would be chopped off.
The dentist was in your corner though-he thought I should save you. It would cost $1500 bucks to keep your high-maintenance ass. I did consider it, as we had so many good times together but lately you had pissed me off so much. Like a 10-week overdue 12-toed inbred baby, you were not welcomed. Putting aside fond memories of crunching jolly ranchers and biting people with a complete set, I told him to put a cap in your ass. The good dentist however, was intimidated by your complicated roots, telling me that it would be more prudent to see an oral surgeon. Damn you! malevolent molar! You did not make this easy for me. I foolishly thought that it would all be over once I got into that comfortable chair of nightmares. Just when you thought you had won, I persuaded the dentist to change his mind and let us just try and hope for the best.
Through exhausting struggle, you held on with a tenacious grip. On one of his breaks to rest his weary hands and wipe his sweaty brow, he pleaded with me "you know, it's not too late to change your mind" I said "No" and then asked him if I could help assist in some way with pulling. I think this served to make him more determined to not give up.
I almost felt like stopping the procedure as I admired your toughness. You were John Wayne, Charles Bronson and Steve Urkle all rolled into one. I started feeling guilty. Afterall, it was my neglect that brought us here. I could have taken better care of you. I was like the parent that refused to buy that pricey shampoo to rid their children's hair of head lice, instead telling them it's fleas from the dog, and that if they wanted to keep Fido they better stop bitching. But YOU were at fault too. I had previous work done -you were drilled and filled. But you were not content and eventually your uncompromising ways led to rebellion and you forced out the foreign invader leaving me with a vulnerable hole that collected buick-sized chunks of food. I left you to fend for yourself and you crumbled under the pressures of independence.
You fought tooth n nail but you were finally wrenched from my jaw, but in your steadfast devotion to assholery, you left behind a piece, which necessitated a visit to the oral surgeon afterall. Grr!
It's all over now. The pain is subsiding, the bills are rising and I have to admit, I miss you. You were a valued friend. Even though there is an option to adopt, it just wouldn't be the same.
