So yeah, our Sunday was fun. Did you know that it’s difficult to find a dentist to do emergency dental work on a Sunday? Especially on Superbowl Sunday? Yup, well I’m here to confirm that for you, just in case you were wondering. And the funny thing is, unless you are thinking ahead of time that you might need emergency dental work, you probably haven’t thought to get the personal cell phone number of your dentist, who is probably at home, stuffing his or her face with nachos and waiting for the big game to start. Hmm, what to do?
The problem grows exponentially when, say, I dunno, your 4-year-old suddenly grabs the side of his head like his brain is exploding out of his ear, he screams in pain, and his shrieks become so loud that passing cars are veering out of your way. Craptastic. We either have a brain-eating parasite or a dental problem…neither of which is convenient (or cheap) on a Sunday.
Turns out that the kid’s filling had popped out of his tooth, more than likely from the stale and chewy candy he had “won” from the claw game at the pizza place the night before. We took bets, and I’m pretty sure the candy had been in the machine since circa 1984. Chewy was an understatement. You could have used this stuff to patch a leaky tire.
Anyway, back to tales of glamour and intrigue (I know you’re jealous). We were all on the way to the grocery store, because that’s what you do when there’s nothing left in the house but crackers and frozen chicken nuggets, so the whole fam-damily was in the car (well, minus the ones who have a social life and had other exciting things to do). I’ll re-phrase—most of the fam-damily was in the car when this tragedy occurred.
We tried to call our dentist. We really did. Actually, I made Jason try to call the dentist. He said, “Nope, there’s no emergency number, no on-call number.”
I said, “What the eff do you mean there’s no on-call number?!” (Except we all know that I didn’t say ‘eff’—we know what I really said.)
He repeated and said that he didn’t know what I wanted him to do. At that point I said that we needed to “find an effing dentist.” (Except, you know the drill. I didn’t say ‘effing.’)
So he googled ‘emergency-dentist-on-superbowl-Sunday-at-freaking-almost-game-time,’ and what to you think we got? Oh, let me tell you what we got.
We got a lovely receptionist who told us to come right on over. There were a few people ahead of us. (Who knew? Evidently there are a LOT of emergency dental issues that happen on Sunday.) What-evs. Yes, yes, YES! Please and thank you. We will take the appointment, because honestly, lady, I don’t think I can stand to listen to my kid whine for another minute about his tooth. (What I meant to say is, “Oh my poor, sweet baby really, really needs to get some relief.”)
So she gave us the address. In DA HOOD. So we went do DA HOOD. And that’s fine and all, but when we got there, we literally parked between a homeless guy and a tortilla stand, and we had to be careful not to hit a stray cat with our car as we parked. The waiting room was approximately 112 degrees Fahrenheit, and it was about the size of, hmmm, my backseat, so I promptly went back outside to the car with Jordan and Marissa.
We waited in the car for something like THREE hours. We hung out with the homeless guy, the stray cat, and the tortilla maker—and I swear I was within 2 minutes of hanging myself with my shoelaces when Jason and Jadon finally came out of the dentist’s office.
Do I need to remind y’all that Jordan is the one that’s a smidge hyperactive? Yeah, I was in DA CAR in DA HOOD with him for THREE HOURS. I’m pretty positive that if I had had Jordan’s medication with me, I would have taken it all for myself. When I finally turned the car back on, everything simultaneously came on at once, since he had managed to fondle every. single. button. in. the. entire. vehicle.
So. The tooth had to come out. It had evidently rotted through nearly to Jadon’s brain, which was causing some amount of discomfort. He seemed ok with this turn of events until we got to the grocery store. (We still had to go to the grocery store, because no one wanted crackers and chicken nuggets for dinner.)
Somewhere about halfway through Hy-Vee the pain meds started to wear off, and Jadon began protesting his lost tooth and the pain that accompanied his situation. And the white trash parade through Hy-Vee commenced.
He began howling. And crying. And snot came out. And tears fell. And incoherent words came out.
And we pushed the carts faster and faster. He said he would be more comfortable if he walked instead of riding in the cart, so Jason obliged. He took about two steps before Jason accidentally ran over his foot with the grocery cart. And the wailing started again.
At that point, we began throwing supplies into the cart like we were preparing for imminent attack. Jason grabbed the bread, and I ran for the bananas. As Jason paid, I went to load the boys into the car in the parking lot, and Jadon could be heard for miles around screaming, “I just want my tooth back! Put it baaaaacccckkk in my mouth! Put it back!”
Um, yeah, how about a little more Tylenol?