Chomp of death

I have this stupid tooth, and it's giving me all kinds of grief and making my life difficult. I had two root canals in the last week and a half. One of them was easy peasy. The other one- not so much. I had to go to an endodontist, since this particular tooth has all kinds of crazy issues. When I got the x-ray, the dentist told me my root was disappearing, so I'd have to go to a specialist. A disappearing root? Specialist? Whatever could this mean? I went with the standard explanation I give myself with all mysterious aches and pains: I must be dying. Like any responsible person with a tooth that is slowly killing them, I waited until my Skittle consumption had me writhing in pain before I went to the aforementioned specialist.

Dude. That root canal was Ba.rooo.tal. It took two sessions of an hour each. I felt sick for two days after the first session. The second session was even worse. Oh the pain. Ohhhh. The pain. I've been chewing with my front teeth for 3 days, since I had a root canal on each side of my mouth, thus making my molars somewhat useless. Basically, they're dead to me.

I was a little over-zealous while eating dinner last night, and I let some of the food slip back by that tooth. CHOMP. I cried like a little baby. Waaaa! Waaaa!

This morning I was getting ready to walk out the door for church. I thought it would be prudent to get a piece of gum, since I generally have poo breath by the 3rd hour and have a calling that requires me to talk to people. I thought I'd give the gum a little test run. Chomp, chomp with the front teeth. Chomp, chomp with the good side. Then I did a little baby chomp on the gimpy side, and what to my surprise... a hunk of metal was withdrawn from my tooth. I mean, really, it was a test chomp. In fact, it wasn't even a chomp at all. It was a tap. I swear. Tap. Hunk of metal.

See, the crappy thing about teeth is that you have to have them to enjoy life fully. The other crappy thing about teeth is that I AM A FLOSSER, and this still happened. And, might I add, ow. So I'm feeling picked on, and I'm tired of going to the dentist and being tortured, and I just want my tooth to stop trying to kill me. That's all.

In exchange for this tooth to be fixed for good, I vow to ne'er eat Skittles again. Ne'er e'er. Especially the blendy kind, since those are actually quite tasty and keep you guessing. Melon? No, I taste berry. Wait, there's the melon again! So you see, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

I'm calling "The Specialist" first thing in the a.m. Don't worry, I'll keep you posted.