I was at improv class last night (doing a phenomenal job, I might add) when all of a sudden the gum I was chewing went from soft, chewy Sweetmint to hard, jagged rock. I spit out what I could only assume was a wayward piece of driveway gravel and it hit me.
"That's my fucking filling."
I totally freaked out and started flop sweating, mainly because I've never really had problems with my filling but I know from my mom that teeth problems are generally extremely painful and costly. I braced for the agony. I'd heard the stories about every breath feeling like a bandsaw ripping through your jaw. I knew the tales of agonizing temperature sensitivity. I wouldn't be able to eat or drink until I got this thing fixed. I needed this like a whole in the head...er, tooth.
To top it off I couldn't really get the support I wanted because Kat had her cousin over who is going through her own tough time and I felt awkward crashing her therapy session with my mouth issues.
When I'm hurt or sick or in pain, I've discovered I really like to be coddled. I need someone to tell me that they know how awful this must be and they're going to help me out. My fiance takes a different tack, usually saying things like "It's fine, you're going to be okay," and "We'll take care of this, don't worry."
Those are all well and good, except for some reason my mind needs reassurance that what I'm freaking out about is legit and worthy of a freak out. I need someone to freak out with me just a little bit, before regaining control and helping me out.
Luckily I don't think a nerve is exposed or anything, and I'm going to Kat's dentist today to try and get the thing fixed. I don't have dental insurance, but luckily they work with that sort of thing. I'm really nervous they're going to say I need a crown. We'll see today at 2:30.