The Tooth Hurts
Flossing optional, apparently
Yesterday was dentist day, the full double-header. First up, the cleaning, which started the way it always does: “How often do you brush?” asked before she’d even looked in my mouth. I said every morning, and she told me that was wrong, should be at night, should be twice a day. Noted. Then she peered around in there, declared everything looked good, and asked when my last cleaning was. A couple years, I admitted. She didn’t ask why. I had reasons, actual ones, but she seemed to take my absence personally, like I’d skipped her birthday party. “Slight gingivitis in the back,” she said, “buildup, we’ll handle it.” Later I found out she’d written “severe mouth disease” in my chart. Never said it to my face. Just typed it and let me walk out unaware. Wild move. She wants me back in six months. I’m thinking once a year, generously.
Since I bundle appointments like errands, I went straight from there to a filling. This is where things got genuinely rough. I mentioned my fractured wrist and possibly fractured rib beforehand, and they strapped the blood pressure cuff on anyway, twice, both readings high, off some ancient machine that’s probably less accurate than guessing. Then the actual procedure: they nearly drowned me, cranked my jaw open so hard my lips hurt, and left it dislocated enough that I couldn’t bite normally for a full day. With the ribs already barking at me, I had to go recover somewhere afterward, like I’d run a marathon instead of gotten a filling. Second worst dental visit of my life. They already booked me for next month. I’ll find a reason not to show.
Some days remind you that discomfort is just the toll for maintenance, and you pay it, complain a little, and go looking for quieter ground to shake it off.
July 22nd, Twenty Years Deep
A look back at nearly twenty years of July 22nd posts, tracing race camps, bike rides, quiet family days, and one particularly humbling moto trail detour. Some things change, but the pull toward mountains and bikes never does. A reminder that showing up, even lost, still counts as living well.
Read more: https://8i11.vercel.app/story/3890y9x6