Signs you have been given exactly enough laughing gas.
Dental Assistant: “Oh my GOD.”
Dentist: “I tried to warn you, honey: he’s extremely infected.” (‘Honey’? What the hell, Dentist?)
DA: “But, I mean…this is just…I’ve never seen anything this bad. That’s gotta be painful”
Dentist: “He’s says it’s not that bad.”
Andrew: (Flinging off gas mask) “I DO NOT KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD PAIN. I AM ALSO A LITTLE SHAKY ON THE MEANING OF THE WORD ‘EXCRUCIATING’. CAN I GET SOME MORE VICODIN?”
Astoundingly, the answer to the above question was Yes. Upon paying my bill, I was rewarded with a little white piece of paper garanteeing me 15 more little white pills.
Yeah, but so the root canal went off without a hitch. I apparently bleed more freely than most people, which the dental folks were not expecting when they sliced into my gums. They managed to get me to stop gushing, though, and it was all uphill from there.
I think my dentist plays just a little too fast and loose with the prescriptions (15 pills for an operation that leaves you in moderate discomfort for one evening is a wee bit excessive), but I’m not about to complain. The cellar’s not gonna stock itself, after all. And I really appreciate it that he doesn’t jump on me about how lax I’ve been in taking care of myself. He just tells me what problems are a priority, and what can wait until I’ve saved up a little money.
If I continue to have good experiences with the dentist, I may actually drag myself into a doctor’s office sometime in the next five years. We’ll see.
I’ll talk about school later (Gear yourselves up for the most self-righteous rant about Intro to Marketing ever delivered). But my lunch break’s over, and I need to get back to work.