Please Tell The Dentist To Take His Fist Out Of My Mouth

For the last several days I have been feeling down, really down. I have probably, “presented cranky” and Dcup asked me several times if I was OK. My reply to her was that, “I am OK.” I felt like I could not explain my doldrums. So I just didn’t and I am sorry about that but I appreciate her patience with me.

This afternoon I had a dentist appointment and I knew it was likely that I needed a root canal. My dental health worries me for several reasons, mostly because of the amount of money it will cost me. It pisses me off that I can’t just get the issues fixed because almost all dental insurance plans are sub-par.

I arrived early to the office with my spiral note book in-hand. I proceeded to map out lesson plans for the next week and I roughed out two blog posts, one about today’s weather and school and this paraphrased post which I will not post:

… I am tired of … walking around our … neighborhood … situation…

I decided that I would not post the rest of this, especially, when I realized the real reason behind my recent feelings.

My root canal had complications. I spend almost three hours with a rubber damn attached to my face while the dentist and his assistants took turns with their feet on my chest while they had a shovel in my mouth.

As soon as I stood up from the dental chair and the weight of those three people were off my chest, I realized that I really do hate the dentist, not because of the physical pain but the pain in our check book. Now, that the anesthesia has worn off – I am OK and that blog post I roughed out three hours earlier seems ridiculous.