We went to Legoland today! For the last time, because it’s kind of a pain in the butt, especially for something you have to drive two hours to get to. We bought year-passes last year, and they’re just about to expire so we had to get in one last visit and it was okay. I got a face full of sun, and the kids always remember the having fun bit, and not the standing in line forever bit, so I guess that’s a good thing, but it’s so dreadfully expensive, and the food is so bad, and the shows are stupid and there are only like seven rides so we’ve really been-there-done-that. So all right. Enough is enough.
Okay, do not read past this point. Seriously. I mean it, there is major dental ickiness ahead, and you do not want any part of it. Unless you enjoyed Elemmaciltur’s “gross yucky wisdom teeth update” etc. postings, in which case read on. Have a ball. Also, seek therapy.
All right, you’ve been warned.
DrBob woke up with a toothache Tuesday morning. What it turned out to be, is that when a tooth was removed, 20 years ago, a bit must have been left behind, and now it’s infected and will turn into a cyst if it doesn’t get fixed. And what he has now is a metal plate in his upper jaw, from which a metal spike extends, and the replacement-tooth is screwed onto that spike. And the infection is up above the plate, so he needs a surgeon to cut his face open to fix it.
Right, so first, anything dental gives me serious heebie-jeebage. I hate anyone messing around with my teeth, cringe at any description of dental squickiness (no, I did not read Elemmaciltur’s wisdom teeth posts, and many thanks El for the nice clear titles that enabled me to steer away from what is for me a very touchy subject), I also hate driving, and hate getting up early, and I have to drive him to his 8:00 appointment in Landshut, which is total street-spaghetti, tomorrow morning. And from there we go straight to Munich and work, which means I have to be up and in office drag and ready to go tomorrow at 7:00, cool my heels in a dental surgery office for however long it takes, and then drive to Munich with my drug- and pain-addled husband, whose method of navigating even when he’s healthy sounds like this: “Aaaand that’s where you should have turned.”
Vicarious pain, a case of the creeps, panic, confusion and probably hostility, all before 10 a.m.? I just don’t see a down-side here.