The Truth about My Tooth

Have I ever mentioned about my tooth?
It shattered to pieces about a week ago.

Okay, actually, there were no more than two pieces. But it still freaked me out. Let me tell you, the last thing you want to see is a crack line that parts your tooth into two perfect halves, where blood flows every time you nudge the parts apart.

Anyway, I went to the nearest dentist I could find.
The dentist, to my surprise, was a very very FINE woman.
She was pretty, with big eyes, great smile, perfect skin...,
and judging by the size of the tummy, was about 32 weeks pregnant. (Talk about the fastest heartbreak you’ll ever get)

I told her that the tooth had got its problems for years.
She checked it out, and finally decided to remove it one step at a time. She took the first half out quickly, and left the other half for about a week.

The next week, today, I went to see her again. I presumed it was going to be fast just as the first.
But it didn’t.
I knew that something was wrong the moment she changed the tool she was using for about, like, the 6th time.
Finally she said that the root of my tooth was firmly attached to my lower jaw (it gives a whole new meaning to the term 'attachment problem' I guess), and that there were two things that could be done; the first one was operation, and the second one was taking the tooth’s crown while leaving the root.
“Sometimes the root comes out by itself,” she continued. “I suggest you take the latter.”

She looked so confident about it that I, without hesitation, took the second choice.
The process won’t hurt, I thought. I bet it’s a normal, quick, and painless procedure.
It never crossed my mind that she’s actually suggesting to break what's left of my tooth in two.

Things began to sink in when the nurse started to hold my head tight. I was always a good patient; I never complained and sat quietly. So if she decided to hold my head anyway, there had to be a grave concern that I, the good patient, would still move my head.

Damn.
The process was painful and unsurprisingly long.

She finally managed to take the crown out, or should I say crowns, considering that the crown shattered again into two pieces? (My tooth was a freaking cluster bomb)
Now I just have to wait a month to see if the root does come out. If it doesn’t, well, the operation is inevitable after all.

Blah, it’s the least of my problems.