Apparently the universe wants me to do the wrong thing.
Two-ish years ago, I went to the dentist for a bunch of work. When I say "a bunch of work" I mean a bunch and right now the people who were poor as kids are nodding and saying, "Yup. You gotta do that." It's one of those things that separates the trailer trash like me from the sort-of-poor-but-had-health-care kids. When you're living off of Banquet Chicken and mayonnaise sandwiches, you don't go to the dentist. Only fancy people go to the dentist. But eventually you grow up, and if you're super lucky, you become a fancy person and you find out why preventative care is cheaper than after-the-fact care. Annual cleanings go a long way in preventing the mess I've got going on now. But by the time I was a fancy person, it was already too late, so I'll be needing lots of work for a very long time.
Even fancy people can't drop thousands all at once. It gets spaced out. Especially when you're a wimp like I am.
ANYWAY.
Two-ish years ago I went and was well along the path to getting everything dealt with but then the jerkface dentist hit a nerve and blah, blah, blah.
My tongue was half numb FOR A YEAR. Thirteen months and six days to be exact. One day I couldn't feel or sense anything on one side and the next it was completely normal. It was like a light switch went off and then came back on a year later. I know it sounds like a minor thing, but I very nearly lost my mind the first six months or so. Every day was frustrating and annoying and blurgh. I eventually got sort of used to it. Mostly.
BUT I WAS NEVER EVER GOING BACK TO THE DENTIST AGAIN I DON'T CARE NO WAY.
I made it through the first 25 years of my life without going to the dentist. I was going to go through the last 50 that way, too.
It lasted a while. Two plus years, in fact. But then something went wrong and a tooth cracked. I ignored that for a few months, but then it cracked again. A few months later, the whole damn thing fell apart. Literally. The root was the only thing left.
It turns out that a gaping hole where a tooth used to be is a trigger for me. I suddenly reverted to being that little girl living in the trailer park and feeling all sorts of self-conscious about the fact that teeth give away your social status. You can put on all the fancy clothes in the world, but teeth will tell your story.
I couldn't deal. I argued with myself for a few days, but then gave in and made an appointment to get it fixed.
Soooo ... fix-it day came this week. It was a delightful day full of root canals and posts and GAAAAH HAVE I MENTIONED THAT TEETH ARE NOT MY THING? There's a reason. It wasn't the worst day ever, but it certainly wasn't fun. And then came the next day and the REAL fun started.
24 hours after the root canal, there was a little swelling along my jaw. Two hours after that, it was a little worse. It was enough worse that it caught my attention, but then I resumed ignoring it because that's my way of life.
It steadily got worse all night. This morning I woke up unable to open my mouth. Literally. One side was completely swollen shut and the other side was shoved over where it doesn't belong. Even Mila noticed because the swelling was THAT bad. A clueless preschooler who is the center of the universe noticed.
I mean, it did look like I was walking around with 4 slices of pizza between my teeth and cheek. So. It was kind of noticeable and stuff.
A few hours later, I landed myself with prescriptions for infections and such, but more so I hold deep in my heart the conviction that I am not meant to the go to the dentist. Bad things happen there, so I best get used to the idea of having poor lady teeth.
Ugh.