I got a toothache back in October. Felt wobbly, like it was coming out. It shifted enough to mess up my bite.
Gary went to the dentist around that same time, came home and announced: "THEY HAVE A NEW MACHINE THAT SHOWS YOU WHAT TEETH ARE DEAD I HAVE TWO DEAD TEETH YOU HAVE TO GO TO THE DENTIST."
I preferred to paint my tooth with Ora-jel, and in a few days it was fine. However, two weeks after that it was wiggly and painful again. And it was odd, I had that stiff neck and I thought maybe it was inflamed and that inflammation spread to my jaw and then my tooth, on the way to its ultimate destination: my brain.
"YOU HAVE TO GO TO THE DENTIST YOUR TEETH ARE DYING YOU NEED ANTIBIOTICS AND A ROOT CANAL AND ANTIBIOTICS LIKE ME."
So I went yesterday. The dentist used the tooth-diagnosing machine (as we call it in our house, THE DEATH MACHINE) and diagnosed me with A DEAD TOOTH. Not as dead as Gary's, but on its way, and her said I need a root canal and antibiotics.
I even let my skepticism show to the dentist. "Really? Gary and I both have the exact same problem?" He said it wasn't unheard of.
So, my first root canal. I don't know how this resurrects the teeth, but it ... it can't hurt. Right?