I love my dentist.

I love my dentist.  He is consistently awesome.  Whenever I go he ends up saying something like, “Well, you have some problems, but we’ll get them fixed later.” It’s been over 10 years.  Apparently he’s found a way to make my problems painless and ignorable.

Saturday I chipped a tooth on falafel (really).  And currently: no dental insurance.  So I was heading over to the office with some trepidation.  He said, “I’ll patch it and it will hold for a long while, but you will need a crown eventually.  Come back when you have some insurance.” “Eventually” he says… I’ll be middle aged by the time this thing breaks.

Then he says, “I need to do a little bit of drilling, but it’s only a little, so it’s up to you if you want a shot (to deaden the pain).”  I think I am tough, so the shot was forgone.  When he said a little bit of drilling, he meant a very little: no more than 3 seconds, barely enough for me to feel it.

Lastly, as I was getting out of the chair he says “It’ll be fine, just stay off it for a few hours.”  My patched cleaved tooth is a mere twisted ankle to this man.  So here’s to Dr. Pacia: hip hip hooray!