I’m serious. They’re pulling it on Friday.
I guess the root is cracked, or, at least, that’s the suspicion, and now my body has decided to not let it be in my mouth anymore. So I get to start the long, bloody, gross, expensive path of getting an implant.
Yuck.
The idea of having an implant grosses me out. Mostly because of the cadaver bone they use for the graft. What if I can taste it? That would be nasty. What if it’s haunted? Will I get ghosts in my mouth? What if they used a bone from somebody who disturbed an ancient Mayan burial ground and then all of a sudden I get weird noises coming from where the tooth was?
Seriously, though. Ew.
Also, I paid a buttload of money in 2016 to have surgery to save the tooth, which obviously didn’t work. So now I get to pay even more to get the tooth pulled and then get ground-up dead guy bones in my jaw, then get a tiny piece of titanium (which was obviously milled from diamonds, stardust, and angel tears) implanted into said dead guy bones, and then wait some more and then get a shiny fake tooth on top. Which is probably made from unicorn horns. Because, seriously, it costs as much as a unicorn would cost. Maybe even more.
And the unicorn would be more magical. This is just going to chew stuff and keep me from looking like a hobo.
So. That’s been my week. Yep.
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