"Irony is a disciplinarian feared only by those who do not know it, but cherished by those who do." ~ Soren Kierkegaard
My jaw was screaming.
More specifically, the left side. Mouth propped open, with four adult sized hands fully engaged in a miniture construction zone in the nether regions of my mouth, I lay in pained silence. I tried to breathe, to take my mind elsewhere, briefly finding myself back in the tasteless Micheal Pitt film I hadn't finished watching the night before. Trying to focus on images of Micheal Pitt barely clothed, I managed to block the pain for a whole two seconds before it came screaming back with a vengence.
My last blog post was a rant about ridiculous (I think I actually said asshole) patients who refused to open wide enough and long enough for proper dental treatment to be performed; to get the job done without requiring an assistant to have back replacement surgery after an hours worth of work. Feeling quite vindicated in my wrathful typing, I laid out why such patients should just accept the oral molestation about to befall them and do as they were told.
Two failing fillings and an open schedule have me in a role reversal. Its opposite day, apparently, and now I have the rubber dam fastened to my unsuspecting 2nd molar and the torture device known as a bite block firmly placed between my teeth on the left side, preventing any downward movement of my jaw.
An hour and a half later, I am wondering if the current massive tearing of my masseter muscle can, in fact, lead to permanent lock jaw. As my body started releasing its natural morphine, in order to prevent me from slipping into insanity from the pain, I felt an overwhelming sense of irony and a need to edit my last blog post. Life is a cruel bitch with a wicked sense of humor who never misses a chance to land my smart-ass in the most humbling of experiences.
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