My latest medical issue... sigh!

While we're in the first month of me having new insurance, why stop at just breaking my foot? Let's add another issue or two on top of things. You know, just to keep things interesting. And to see if I can meet my deductible in 31 days. I mean, why not? To adequately tell you this story, we must go back in time to Easter Sunday in 1997 (cue flashback moment and wiggly lines that blur into the next scene...)

My family went over to my BFF Becky's house for Easter Sunday. One of the things that Becky and I did for fun was to jump on the trampoline. She was an amazing gymnast, so she was always pulling these crazy stunts on the tramp. I am clumsy and so usually stuck to the easier of the tramp tricks. I could, however, do a flip, a pancake, and a few other mildly entertaining things, given the opportunity. Becky and I decided that since dinner was over, we'd go outside and practice our flips. After all, it was a miracle that we could even get to the trampoline this early in the year in our blustery Idaho climate. We flipped for awhile, and then Becky ran in to go to the bathroom. I stayed out and kept flipping. And flipping. I was gonna land on my feet and not over rotate, dang it! I flipped again... and crashed into the bar along the edge of the tramp. With my face. My first thought was, "Gee, that kind of hurt." Then I had the urge to spit. So I did. And tiny, white sugar-like pieces went flying from my mouth. It was definitely not sugar I was spitting, though; it was pieces of tooth.

Needless to say, I freaked out. I ran inside screaming to my mom, the nurse, and she took a look. About 4/5 of my front top left tooth was gone. And there was no hope of retrieving what I'd broken - the pieces were way too small to find. I was in a lot of pain and was seriously freaking out. Understandably so. My dad and my dentist grew up together, so Dad pulled out his Nokia cell phone (do you remember those?) and called up good 'ole Dr. Tingey. He was visiting his mom (my grandma's next door neighbor) and suggested we come right over. Which we did. We got there, and Grandma and Grandpa Tingey (seriously, they were like our other grandparents) hovered to the rescue. Grandma Tingey offered cake and milk as Grandpa Tingey quit swearing (a huge sign of concern - if you knew Fred, you'll get that). Dr. Tingey pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat me down. I opened wide while trying not to make eye contact with any of the Tingey grand kids who were watching in horror from all sides. The nerve was barely exposed, which was causing all the pain, but he thought he could fix it. The next day his office was closed, but he called his hygienist right then and there and told her we were coming in first thing tomorrow.

Using the same kind of plaster they use to fill cavities, they built a cap right then and there on top of what was left. They told me the tooth underneath (or what was left of it) would probably die. Their most optimistic guesses were that I'd be 18 if I was lucky when this happened, though they suspected it'd be earlier. After all, I'd smacked the crap out of it. They figured that once that happened, I'd have to do a bone graft, post, tooth on a screw into my head action to fix it. I left assured that no one at school would see my freakish snaggle tooth, which was all that mattered to me at 12.

We now enter the year 2011. My tooth starts being sensitive. I am paranoid about this tooth (understandably so), so when I notice any little thing about it, I call my dentist. My new dentist here in Indiana got me in mere days later. The x-rays confirmed the diagnosis - the plaster was breaking down and that was causing leaking into my tooth cavity. The root wasn't infected yet, but it was on its way. It was time to do something about the tooth. And the verdict was... root canal. Is it weird that my reaction was, "Really? That's it?" I was relieved, actually. That's way easier than the bone graft of death I was expecting. And I'd gotten nearly 10 additional years that the best guesses had predicted. So I scheduled a root canal, and on Wednesday afternoon, I spent 3 (yes 3) hours in my dentist's chair having an anxiety attack (because that's what I do at the dentist's office) and getting numbed 3 separate times because of my anxiety. I left with a temporary cap, which will be replaced in 3 weeks by a permanent one, and some whitening trays. (I mean, if I'm gonna get some work done, let's go for it, right?) The best part? Because of the huge amount of plaster that had to be removed and because of the damage I'd previously done, I got to pay $600 more than the average root canal costs. Yeah. You read that right. Good thing I work full time so that I can pay my bills. Sheesh!

Long story short, that is how I managed to nearly, if not completely, meet my deductible in 1 month.