Tooth Update

“You’re late.”

“I’m just great Doc, thank’s for asking. And how are you this fine afternoon?”

I thought I’d try starting off on a pleasant note considering our last encounter. By the look on Dr. D. Kay’s face, I shouldn’t have bothered.

“Sit down Mr. GeekMan, your humor is wasted here.”

I complied, noticing that the foul beast that was my doctor made absolutely sure to stay clear of my hands until he had secured me to the chair. As the restraints clicked into place I realized he had changed from leather straps to cool, unyielding metal handcuffs. Damn, there goes my ‘No-Pain’ insurance.

“As you can see Mr. GeekMan, I’m not going to fall for your little trick twice. This time we’re on my terms.”

He laughed then. Not the gentle chuckle of a kindly uncle, or even the loud happy screeches of a child, but the dry, humorless laugh of a man who has read about laughing in a book but has never done it himself. It sounded like a feral cat trying to cough up a hairball of pine cones and barbed wire.

It sounded painful.

A few moments later the giant needle of my nightmares was headed towards my mouth. I felt so vulnerable lying there, my mouth open and drooling slightly like a slack-jawed yokel. I think I whimpered like a frightened puppy when he leaned down to insert the needle into the soft tissue of my mouth.

The needle was about six feet long.

A quick pain was followed by a feeling of fluids rushing into my jaw, and then nothing. That’s right, nothing. My mouth was suddenly missing from my head. I know this because when I tried to ask the doctor what had happened my tongue just flopped around on my chest like a dying fish.

In alarm, I tried to draw “Help Me!” on the floor with my drool.

Dr. D. Kay didn’t waste a moment trying to decipher my desperate attempts at communication. He grabbed what looked like a pair of dirty, rusty pliers from a toolbox in the corner and wiped them on his pants, leaving ugly, copper colored streaks on his Khaki Dockers. Using his knee to hold down my lower jaw and an elbow on my forehead, he propped open my mouth and proceeded to lever the offending tooth from my skull. He used the patented back and forth motion guaranteed to cause as much discomfort in the patient as possible while uttering such soothing words as, “This might hurt a little.”

He was right. It certainly did hurt. A lot.

The Dr. and my tooth struggled for what seemed like hours. It was amazing, but my body seemed to suddenly and unanimously decide that this rotten, decrepit tooth was so vitally important to my continued survival that it simply could not and would not be removed at this time. It was as if my brain had sent orders to the rest of my body and my spine had reached out and grabbed the root of this tooth in the hopes of keeping it within the confines of my mouth. My tooth held on for as long as it could, but in the end it lost the war and came out of its safe, warm and moist cave to see the world it was never meant to see.

Upon seeing my face it promptly screamed in terror and turned to dust.

Here’s a picture of the horrid little thing I used to call my wisdom tooth. Look upon it at your own risk as it has the power to cause gingivitis with a glance. I’m in pain right now, but not as much as I thought and it seems like I’ll be fine in a day or so. Unfortunately, I’ve got to go back in two weeks to have the other tooth removed, but for now I can look forward to a dinner of soup and lukewarm water.

Lucky friggin me.