Let the record show that there is something worse than the phrase “You need a root canal.”

It’s “Hmm, according to this new X-ray, you need TWO root canals.”

And, to my dismay, since the new offender was the upper tooth right over the known one, I have to either fix both, or pull both, since a far back molar without its counterpart is basically just a waste of jaw space.

Fortunately, following a panicked cellphone call, my father came through in fine style. Let the record also show that he has dibs on my organs. So I got the first root canal–er–dug? tunnelled? canalled?

And, just to reassure people who may be dragging their feet on the way to the dentist–didn’t hurt at all. The Novocaine shot is always miserable, of course, but he pumped two syringes worth into my jaw, and I didn’t feel a thing. Come to that, I still don’t. Brain central only regained radio contact with my left nostril a few minutes ago. And I have Vicodin.

Vicodin goooooood.