Three a.m. wake-up is not unusual. Middle-of-the-night wake-up to worry is frequent. Worry over work, the future, the world, what to wear tomorrow, and whether I locked the door fills the brain. Do I get up to check? Of course not. The alligator under the bed might get me. This particular night is different. A throbbing tooth is the culprit. I jump the alligator for Advil.
“I see a potential crack. I’m going to recommend an endodontist–an expert in tooth pain,” informs Regular Dentist. Turns out this other guy’s deep knowledge is in the pulp. Who knew? Most of his work ends in root canal. “Meantime, I will give you some Amoxicillin to prevent infection.”
“Take it with food,” the pharmacist advises. “It can cause upset stomach.” Easy–it’s the stuff of kids’ ear infections. Wrong. Amoxicillin is the devil.
Upset stomach? No. Amoxicillin is a horned gremlin with a pitchfork poking, tossing acid willy-nilly, and spewing nausea for her own amusement.
After an archaeological dig into the pulp, Endodontist Guy pronounces the tooth unsavable. We’ll get through the pain holistically. With Advil. Lucky me. Nothing to treat Amoxicillin and her industrial paper shredder precision. I’m starting to hate her.
Sitting at my desk at work. Brain: I’m gonna barf. I’m gonna barf. Run to the Ladies. Pull my hair back. Amoxicillin laughs. Just kidding.
Back to Regular Dentist. We’ll extract the tooth. Hmmm. It won’t come out. You’ll have to see an oral surgeon. Don’t worry, Advil will help with the pain. No word on who’s gonna save me from Amoxicillin.
Oral surgeon says, “This is a lot. You seem nervous. You have the option of nitrous and, of course, I’ll call in a prescription for pain.” The heavens open and the angels sing. “But I would like you to continue to take an antibiotic. How’s the Amoxicillin?”
“Worst drug ever,” I blurt. Take that Evil Gremlin.
“Let’s switch that up. And what about the nitrous?”
“I have to drive myself.”
“That’s okay. It’s very short-term. You breathe oxygen for a bit after and you can drive.”
There is a special place in the Netherlands for whoever told me laughing gas could not solve a host of problems and allow me to drive myself home. Probably a friend of Amoxicillin.
“Breathe in through your nose. You’ll just feel relaxed.”
And chat with everyone in the office. I learn the names of all the dental assistants, their weekend plans, favorite music, kids’ names, and what schools they attended. And the most important question. “Can he be my regular dentist?”
“Sadly, no. He is a surgeon. But everyone says that. He’s great.”
Surgeon God breaks my tooth to smithereens and yanks it out. He did have to take breaks for my commentary on the conversation around me and he, surprisingly, was very patient. Perhaps this magical dental gas makes everyone extra chatty.
So what was the lesson? No wonder our kids cried over ear infections. We thought it was the ears. Nope, it was a horned gremlin in their stomachs. It’s a wonder they don’t hate us. Pfft.
The Duchess Diaries 