Falling apart

Literally.

A couple of weeks ago, when we were on vacation in Arizona, I started getting a toothache. We had switched from a "sensitive" toothpaste to a Crest with Scope, at my request because my dentist uses it as is free sample, and I liked the flavor. Cyndi had said that since we stopped using the other toothpaste, she was experiencing issues too. I wasn't convinced that toothpaste has that much power over my aches and pains.

I would only feel the pain when I ate something on my left side, chewed gum over there, or drank something cold. It wasn't going away. I called the dentist office today, and they were able to squeeze me in as the last appointment of the day.

I described my pain, and was asked to bite on a plastic toothbrush looking device a bunch of times. The pain, thankfully, I guess, was in a consistent place. The dentist used a flashlight in several places, and said, "uh huh, and um," several times.

"You have a cracked tooth," he said. "It's cracked in the front and in the back. I'm not sure about the middle. I'll have to take an x-ray." He draped the radiation protection over me, put a white piece of cardboard in my mouth, zapped the x-ray, and explained the procedure.

"You need a crown," he said. "It costs $1000. Insurance picks up 50%." A $500 toothache, I thought. "We'll have to have you come in two times. The first time we will spend about an hour numbing the area and shaving the tooth down. We'll make a temporary, plastic crown. Two weeks later, you'll come back for 20 minutes and I will put the permanent crown in." He asked if I had any questions, which I didn't. I trust his judgement. I have no choice, really. We scheduled the appointments, and in a month, my toothache will be gone.

I can't get any breaks. Well, I guess I can.