So today, after long months of insurance wrangling, in which I first exceeded my yearly dental allowance, and had to wait nearly six months, which was then complicated by James’s company switching dental insurance providers halfway through the process, forcing us to start back at square one (or actually square zero, ‘cos I now had a known pre-existing condition, which thankfully turned out not to be an issue) with a much crappier insurer, everything was approved and I went in to get my new crown put on.
Except that they had to take an impression first, so the crown could be made to fit. Which they hadn’t done right after the root canal, ‘cos of the insurance wrangling, so I had that temp in for a loooong time.
See, after about eight months with a temporary crown, the gums, like a hedge, get a bit overgrown. They tried yanking them back a coupla times, and then, at last, they got out the hedge clippers and did a little oral topiary.
I knew it was a bad sign when the nurse leaned over and said “Honey, y’all evah had kids?”
“…gnofb?” I said.
“‘Cos this is gonna feel like yo’ gums just had a baby.”
These are not comforting words. When she handed me six Advil and a glass of water a few minutes later, this was exceedingly welcome, but again, not comforting. The Novocaine is still in full force–they gave me four syringes worth, after the first batch got metabolized a teensy bit too quickly–but I can tell already it’s gonna be pain–a light, sharp, raw pain, rather than a bone-deep ache, significantly less than the mule-kick agony of a root-canal in the making. On the scale of pains, perhaps only a 3 or a 4. Nevertheless, pain.
I had hoped to get some stuff done today, like my second Beastiary card, or the recreation of the Horned Sculpey Thingy, but instead, I believe Ursula will be spending some quality time with her bottle of Vicodin.