Archived Column: 3/19/02

Tell the Tooth:

March 19, 2002

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One week ago, I wrote about losing my voice and my attempts to find it. Fortunately, I did find it -- piece by piece -- as the week progressed, and by Sunday, it was all put together again. It was very reminiscent of Humpty Dumpty, except none of the king's men were there (since they had a big game against the Lakers). I must say, though, that it was anti-climatic -- very different from finding a lost treasure, for example. "Who could lose a treasure?" you may be thinking. And I agree. But I need you to stop changing the subject...

Rather than dwelling upon what was once lost, I need to dwell upon what I found today: the absolutely worst toothache ever experienced in my life. I'm not one to embellish information, but this pain was so bad that I named it. And this name was so bad that I've already forgotten what the name was. Strangely, though, any time I drank liquid the pain would go away completely -- for approximately 47 seconds, at which point it came back again until I drank more liquid. So not only was this the worst toothache I've experienced in my life, but I also drank more water today than I have in my entire life. Trust me: it's easy to keep track of something like this because if you miscalculate the amount of water you take in, it's pretty easy to remember the amount of water you took out...

I made an emergency dental appointment in the afternoon because it seemed like the logical thing to do. I looked forward to 7:00 in the evening because I thought that maybe I'd be getting a root canal, which would not present a problem. After all, I already had a canal in my stomach because of all the water I drank. In the evening I'd just have to sit there and root for it: yeah, canal -- you can do it, come on!

I was let down, however. Approximately one hour before my appointment, the pain ceased to exist. And you know what? I missed it… sort of. It's not that I like to torture myself, but I wanted the dentist to find something so that he could get rid of it, or do whatever it is that dentists do when they find something. As it is, I think my dentist might have less degrees than a broken protractor. When I look at his dental school diploma on the wall, I am pretty sure it still has the price tag on it. My experiences with all of my dentists throughout my life have been that they poke around for about 45 minutes and then come to one conclusion: "There really doesn't seem to be any problems."

That's the worst thing you can say to anyone who has been in great pain for 12 hours. I wanted something to be wrong. I wanted a root canal. I wanted to be freed of potential hydrophobia. But instead, I had to settle for the knowledge that the pain was gone and may not return again. I really think that the pain knew I was going to the dentist, so it hid behind a molar, very similar to what a certain animal would do… What's that animal's name again? The one that is spelled similar to 'molar?' Oh yeah, a mountain goat...

The pain will return, I can be almost sure of that. When it does, I'll have a bottle of water ready. And hopefully I won't be tempted to hit myself on the head with it...

But I digress.