Trippin'

I have terrible dental karma.
A former dentist of mine once referred to me as a "dental cripple" and that was when I was in my early 30s.
I come by it honestly, I guess. My father had a full set of upper and lower dentures by the time he was 40. When I was a kid, he used to roll them out for my amusement. He startled the hell out of my sons the first time he did it in their presence.
I've maxed out Maria's dental insurance coverage for the year with an abcessed tooth that required a root canal and a crown, followed soon after by a bridge failure.
Now, with more than a month to go before we re-set the insurance clock, another tooth has blown up on me.
Maria, who was a dental assistant in a previous life, says it's #30 or #31 - a lower tooth on the right side.
The last time I saw my dentist - about six weeks ago - he pointed to it on the panoramic x-ray and said it looks like it has some infection and could blow up at any time.
Naturally, it became an issue on Thanksgiving Eve. All of my dental emergencies occur during or just before a weekend or holiday, making it a major deal to get relief.
So it was no big surprise when I called my dentist's home yesterday and got his voicemail because he and his family were away for Thanksgiving. Fortunately, I had a supply of Vicodin left over from the previous crisis, but what I really needed was an antibiotic to put out the fire in my throbbing tooth.
He called about 9 p.m. to say he had just phoned a prescription to the open-on-holidays Walgreen's pharmacy I'd mentioned when I left a message for him.
Even so, I slept very little last night, slamming down a pair of Vicodins every four hours.
By this morning it seemed that I was getting the upper hand, but the right side of my head - from my temple to my neck - still aches.
The plan, endorsed by my dentist, is to get this thing under control and keep it subdued until after Jan. 1 when my insurance coverage returns to full strength.
In the meantime, I'm just painfully stoned.