By the skin of my teeth*

(*because I couldn't title this post "By the seat of my pants")

Faithful readers may recall that earlier this year I expressed the suspicion that I had cracked a molar. And, typical of events involving a likely large outlay of cash and/or encounters with the medical establishment, I waited to do something about it until I had to do something about it. About a month ago a chunk of said tooth broke off one day while I was snacking at work, and to make a long story short, over the last few weeks I have spent about 5 hours and a couple months' pay rehabilitating said tooth.


(If you're wondering whether that's a seriously damaged tooth, or whether I'm seriously underpaid, you're right!)

Yesterday I had root canal part deux, followed by some minor surgery (lasers to trim the gum tissue -- cool! drills to cut the bone -- not so much!) and felt entitled to be a wimp today, what with the pain and not sleeping much last night. So I stayed home from work, and after a breakfast of scrambled eggs I dozed off an on to the Science Channel.


I'm trying not to be pessimistic about this, but with my knee episode last week, and now this, it seems like my warranty is about to expire. It doesn't help that on Thursday I get to have one last birthday before the AARP membership applications start littering my mailbox.


Yes, this is a shameless ploy for sympathy. You know I'd do the same for you . . .