stereotypical single woman

The internet can be a very very bad place, especially if you’re a hypochondriac.

Monday night I was sitting at my desk, studying for once, when I noticed a weird sensation in my mouth. A few weeks before I had gotten a flax seed caught in the gum of my front tooth, so I pulled it out and the area was a little inflamed but nothing too bad. Initially I had a small bump there, but it went away after a few days so I didn’t think anything of it. But now the bump was definitely back, bigger, and damn, it hurt.

Now if you type “recurring bump on gums” into Google you will get page after page of hits with phrases like “abscess,” “fistula,” “extraction,” and “root canal.” (whatever you do, don’t click on the image links unless you have a really strong stomach) It’s enough to make you panic, forget everything else, and call your dentist at 8pm on a Monday night. I left a desperate sounding message saying that I’d drive into Grand Rapids from Detroit as soon as they could fit me in. I didn’t sleep well that night, convinced my teeth would have fallen out by morning. Or that the bumps would burst and the bacteria would travel straight up into my brain. It also goes without saying that I kept examining and picking at it, making it hurt even more. Fate rewarded my diligence in worrying by making matters even worse with more bumps appearing Tuesday morning, all painful, all convincing me that I was going to be a toothless hag by nightfall.

My dentist’s office called back the next morning. They asked what the bumps looked like (small and white), if they appeared and disappeared over the period of a few days (yes), if my tooth hurt (yes!!!!), each time I answered the hygenist sounded more concerned. And then she said, “well, we did put desensitizer on that tooth a few months ago, we better get you in right away.” They made an appointment for me Wednesday afternoon.

Which left me 36 hours to obsess and completely freak out.

It’s safe to say that I’m one of those people who is amazingly good at sweating the small stuff. What can I say? I’m gifted. I also sweat the big stuff, the medium-sized stuff, and the unable-to-be-categorized stuff with a flair that has to be seen to be believed. I attribute it to being a perfectionist and having an eye for detail. My family and friends think I just turn into the occasional high strung pain in the ass. Whatever, but it basically boils down to the fact that it doesn’t take much to turn me into a stressed out bundle of nerves. (If you’re the gambling type odds are 3 to 1 that I have my first heart attack by the age of 50.) Thinking I might have to choose between having a root canal I can’t afford or losing my un-chipped front tooth and looking like trailer trash was enough to send me crying to mommy. (side note, why is it you don’t consider yourself vain until it comes to something like losing a tooth?)

I had myself so worked up - about the idea of the pain, the idea of the money I can’t afford to pay, and the idea that I’ve failed in keeping myself healthy that, as I was driving back to GR, I would find myself clenching my teeth and breathing shallow breaths until I cried out in pain - all unintentionally. Yep. I’m sad.

What was the diagnosis? Stress caused canker sores and pain from bruxing. He told me that I needed to relax more and wear a bite guard more often. I asked if I could just have a prescription for some really good pain killers.