Root Canal with Gas

Someone found my blog the other day by searching for “Root Canal with Gas”. 

I choose to willfully interpret this, and have decided to advise against going to get a root canal if you have gas.  Although it’s possible that the pain of the root canal will eliminate (haha!) the gas pain, it’s more likely that you will just have pain in multiple places.

Also, if your dentist has gas, I would also advise against it–because all you have left when they have put the ugly sunglasses on you, pried open your mouth, turn on the drills, and you’re holding on so tight to the chair that your knuckles are changing colors is your sense of smell.  And do you really want to have the kind of day where at one time, all of your sense are experiencing unpleasantness?

Surgery Success

Oliver had his dental surgery this morning.  Besides my emotional state being frazzled at best, it went off without a hitch.  I had talked to Oliver about what to expect ahead of time, and his only request was that I stay with him the whole time (we will never EVER mention how after he fell asleep I went and sat in the waiting room).

So, here is our morning, in pictures:

On our way to the hospital after we had dropped Hazel off.

Waiting to be checked in. They had a kids’ section for us to sit in. Olive was my champion in his Batman cape.


Back in the pre-operating room, where we changed into our awesome outfits and Oliver got a drug to relax him so he wouldn’t freak out about the gas. The nurses were all surprised that Oliver was so stubborn even after taking the meds! He wouldn’t let me put his hospital shirt on or his hat.
Here are his cool socks:


My rockin’, sexy outfit. Note that they chose for me “Father X-Large”–I don’t know why I didn’t qualify for “Father Medium”, at least… Oliver took the pictures of me, so I am headless and/or weird looking in all of them. 🙂


Me and Oliver, hammin’ it up. He was so brave!

He finally let me put on his hospital shirt (I think they chose pink because they all thought he was a girl). There was a TV right there that he was watching, and he would only let me put it on cartoons in Spanish.


Me, showing off my awesome hat that I got to wear. I was trying to convince Oliver that he should put his on too, but no dice.

After the surgery was done, I was brought back into the room area with Oliver before he woke up. Here he is, still sedated.


Seeing him hooked up to all the machines and stuff brought back memories of when he was born.

March 15, 2006–

On our way home from the hospital, at the ready for any throw up. Luckily, he saved all his vomit for the hospital ride out, so the wagon got the worst of it.


All in all, he only needed one crown and got a bunch of fillings. Way better than anticipated. Also, he only kind of fought the anesthesia.

Oliver’s Surgery

Oliver is having dental surgery tomorrow.  Genetics, playing a mean game of selecting the bad genes, chose to give him my teeth.  He needs crowns (stainless steel!) on his baby teeth, possibly extractions, fillings… the whole gamut.  They’re giving him general anesthesia.

I’m stressing.  I will be with him when they put him under, and will be there when he wakes up.  And I will be pacing the floors in between.  I’m bringing his Panda Bear, and everything is all set to go.

But he’s my baby.  And I’m scared.

Just Crown Me Queen Katy!

Sound the trumpets!  Give me some pain meds!

The root canal is finished!  It’s finally finished!

Now I just need to make an appointment to get the crown put on.  And, since this has been dragging on since May, the dentist’s office doesn’t remember if they ever made impressions for a permanent crown and whether or not they have them for me.  Exciting, eh?

I  have to say, though, that the endodontist that I visited was fabulous.  Personable, and he had some serious numbing skills.

The Fate of Number 18

Monday morning will determine the fate of number 18.

No, I’m not talking about the actual number. While it would be cool to have some say in whether eighteen is meritorious enough to remain in our numeric system (it is a significant age in the US, but what did it ever do for me?), I, unfortunately, don’t have that kind of power. Yet.

I’m referring to the tooth. Number 18. That’s my last molar on the bottom left (I looked it up on a chart). Monday’s dentist appointment will result in either pain for me… or pain for me. But hopefully dental-related weight loss either way. hehe! (Silver lining, anyone?)

The saga of 18:
I was feeling tooth pain in number 17 (the one right in front of 18) when I was pregnant with Hazel. I went to the dentist, and he said that he couldn’t find any problems, that it must just be a pregnancy symptom (huh?). I was pretty busy, so I just ignored it.

After Hazel was born and the drama of ‘Oh-my-gosh-I-have-two-kids-now-what-the-heck-am-I-doing-here?’ died down, I went to the dentist (a different dentist this time). I went in, and they said that 17 was fine, but 18 was in some major trouble. I told them that that was well and good, but could they make 17 stop hurting please?

After some tinkering, the dentist decided that I need crowns on both teeth. But, because things can never be easy, I also needed a crown lengthening performed in order for them to put on the new crowns. So I had the crown lengthening surgery done. This involved lots of anesthesia, swallowing a bunch of blood, and listening to a periodontist talk to his hygienist about his Brazilian ex-wife. When he was finished, he stitched me up (getting stitches grosses me out, for the record), put putty packing stuff all around the area, and told me to come back in a week to remove the stitches.

A week later, I went in to remove the stitches. When they took the stitches off, there was me, with less gums. And so much pain I could have passed out. I guess a nerve had been exposed. And I really think that no pain that I have experienced comes close to the pain of a swollen, infected, exposed nerve. I couldn’t drink room temperature water because the area was so sensitive. So, he decided to see what he could do–perhaps get me a longer temporary crown. It was so painful that they couldn’t take impressions to make the temporary crown.

He gave me a couple of shots of anesthesia to numb me up, and proceeded to try to remove the most painful parts. (They called this a ‘pulpectomy’ in the insurance docs, if you care.) When dealing with 17 (you know, the one with “no problems”), the pain was intolerable. He tried giving me anesthesia right into the nerve, and I received 5 or 6 shots in total… to no avail. The hygienist had to literally hold me down while the dentist did the pulpectomy because I couldn’t stand the pain. The send me away and tell me to find an endodontist to complete the root canals on both teeth.

I got to New York and found an endodontist. I went to her, and she began the root canals. Somehow, 17 was still my nightmare, and I couldn’t get numb. I toughed it out–if you can call crying, yelling, and wiggling like a teenybopper at a NKOTB concert ‘toughing it out’. I have the last laugh–there is no more nerve in 17, so it will never bother me again.

18 was a different story. Even though it wasn’t a wisdom tooth (or at least, it oughtn’t be since I had those removed ages ago), the roots were all curly like a gnarly, old (but apparently wise) man. The endodontist told me that she didn’t feel comfortable performing the root canal since there’s a good chance that it won’t take. She said that it will be impossible to perform a full root canal on this tooth because of the way it’s shaped. She recommended that I get the tooth pulled and replaced with a dental implant, but that I should talk to my regular dentist.

My regular dentist wanted me to wait and come in when we got back from New York so that he could see it before making any decisions.

So, Monday morning, I find out if I get to have a second root canal done, and then two crowns put on, or if I get to have my tooth pulled, a dental implant, and a crown.

And then I get to make a really long appointment for the rest of my mouth, which is also all messed up.

But can I just say, lest you think I’m gross, I do a good job brushing my teeth. I brush, I floss, and then I brush again… my teeth cleaning routine takes FOREVER.

So, stay tuned to find out the fate of Number 18.