My molar

I had a tooth yanked out recently. It was a molar, and for about thirty years had served with honour and distinction. Uncomplainingly masticating right along with the best of them. At one point it had hosted a cavity, but a filling took care of that, and all had been sunshine and hog calls since. Even a few years back when the butcher H******** (an alleged dentist) jerked out my wisdom teeth (along with some chunks of jaw bone) the previous second molar took over as hind-most molar, and did it’s duty. The other day things took an unfortunate turn. Part of the problem was that filling from so many years before. Unnatural stresses had been applied to the tooth, weaknesses introduced, and yet still the tooth lasted for years. And then a crack appeared in the enamel, working it’s way down to the root, with another crack appearing on the opposite side. Unbeknownst to me, an ugly situation was manifesting itself. The tooth began to ache, as they occasionally do. The next day it really began to ache. Of course this was on a weekend, and all dental activity had been curtailed for a few days. I scored some extra strength Bufferin and spent Sunday trying to ignore the pain. Monday was a work day, and the heat being expelled from my machine caused the tooth to hurt, and convinced me to give the dentist a call (our current dentist, Doctor F*******, is an officer and a gentleman, and nothing like the butcher H********, who is now retired. Probably only one step ahead of many malpractice lawsuits.) The receptionist wondered at the fact that someone who had a tooth turning on him wouldn’t want to come in right away and have it dealt with, but the work angle seemed to satisfy her, and to cut an increasingly long story short, two days later I was safely bolted into the dentist’s chair. The Dentist presented me with his evaluation of the situation, and my options along with his recommendations. The tooth had to go. I agreed, and then I asked for a few final moments alone with my tooth. That over with, they pulled out some metal tools that would have made a Grand Inquisitor of the Spanish Inquisition piddle with envy. The procedure began, and I am forced to admit that there was a certain amount of pain involved. The only part of me not flailing around like a fish on a hook was my head (I figured that if it hurt this much with my head being still, how much would it hurt if I moved my head?) Any comparison between this pain, and the discomfort of childbirth would be purely speculative on my part, but there was a great deal of relief when the tooth finally cracked free. So now the tooth is gone, and my mouth is pain free. Yet, a valued member of my toothal family is gone, and I feel a little poorer for it.

Anyway... Humouroceros