Jeebus cripes, my jaw hurts.
Sally told me that the dentist said he had a hell of a time getting my wisdom tooth out. Apparently one root was stuck fast, and he had to cut into the bone to get it out.
I hate like hell taking Vicodin (not because of its side effects, although that's one reason to be wary of it), but that's the only reason I'm out of bed and not lying there with an icepack going "Owwwww...."
The whole time during the runup to this dental session I just could not get all of the dental scenes in the Aubrey-Maturin novels out of my head. For all of the modern accoutrements and procedures, pulling a fucked-up tooth is still a barbaric procedure fraught with opportunities to fuck things up even more.
All I can say is thank God for rufies, nitrous, and Vicodin -- all things Stephen Maturin and the Royal Navy didn't have back in the 19th Century.
(On the other hand, I did lose 3.1 pounds this week. So I guess it's not all bad.)
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