I’m now on day three after having a crown put in to repair a cracked tooth.Granted, my memory has been flimsy my whole life, but I don’t remember this much discomfort with the last one.
It began when the sunglasses they gave me transformed my world into a shade of red only seen in Hades. At the risk of appearing high-maintenance I exchanged them for a less horrific color.
The process went reasonably well, although I like the end where they fit the crown much better than the beginning when they griiiinnnnd your tooth down to accommodate the crown. (One handy thing about my dentist is he does the entire production in his office. No waiting while it’s mailed out to some other facility.) In spite of the gargantuan needle stabbed into my jaw, I thought I did feel something or other on my tongue at one point, but after a slight pause we carried on.
It turns out I was right. When the anesthetic wore off, Ibuprofen took care of any after effects from the tooth, but my sad, dermabraised tongue told me I wouldn’t be eating anything solid for a while. Quite a while. Even talking is painful.
My Guy is away with hobby friends for the weekend so no need for me to make conversation during the day. Happily, it’s been a fairly silent weekend with the library, shopping, and buying plants. Maybe tonight I’ll get crazy and chew something.