I have an awful, awful toothache.
I’m really, really hoping our daughter inherits my husband’s teeth and not mine as mine are mush. And because they are mush, they are always in need of work. Of course, I haven’t been to a dentist in two years so there may be some cause and effect.
But no seriously. My teeth have always been awful. And I hate the dentist. And, of course, a pregnant lady’s gums are a war zone – my toothbrush looks as though I use it as a shiv – so this was bound to happen. I had a root canal done and, seriously don’t lecture me, I never had the crown put on. At the time, I didn’t have the money, and then I didn’t have the time.
Remember – I also was supposed to have surgery on my sinuses last year. 2009 was not the year of Erin taking great care of her health.
So now I believe I have problem. No, I know I do. And I have to find a new dentist because the old one isn’t in our network and, oh, by the way, we just got a bill for $1600 in the mail for the CF testing we had done. We were told it would be about $400. So there’s that.
I’m grateful for our insurance, I am, because I know plenty of people who don’t have the peace of mind we do because our insurance does allow us to get tested and be compensated for myriad testing that it does cover. But dear God I hate having to call them and do the back and forth dance. And basically I know I’m going to have to just suck it up, write a big, fat check and move along.
I hate doing that, even though I’ll enjoy crossing that off of my to-do list.
So I’ll be darned if I’m going to use my current dentist and incur even more charges. This just means now I have to really, really find one in my network and go because eating is a chore right now. Stupid pregnancy gums. Stupid genetics. Stupid insurance.
Strangely enough, I didn’t sit down to complain about my insurance and all of things it won’t cover but it’s been angering me to a ridiculous degree and I’m already a hormonal, zombie mess. I’m not yelling and screaming or reacting irrationally. I’m not throwing things and crying (much). I am just at that point where I can feel The Crazy circulating through my system and it’s uncomfortable and just makes me want to curl up on the couch and have Scott rub my feet until I’m sufficiently numb and zonked out with TV.
I haven’t been keeping the best diet, which I know is part of it. So I’m purposely cutting out the junk for the time being. The not-ideal dietary choices are no doubt having an effect here and as much as I’d like to rationalize banana bread for breakfast, it’s a bad idea. A yummy, yummy bad idea.
Thankfully Scott is more than supportive and funny and kind about all of this. Whenever I look at him and say, “I’m just a mess! I can feel it!” he does something to make me laugh and then orders me to the couch to watch awful TV. Or to go to bed. Or something equally indulgent and sweet. I’m assuming it’s what’s keeping me from actually having a meltdown.
That and all of the apple pies I’ve been making. So maybe I won’t cut those out.
