In days of old, an aching tooth
Would be extracted; that’s the truth.
You’d scream; you’d cry; you’d curse; you’d shout
And then they’d yank the fucker out.
With luck, you might relieve the pain
With laudanum, or else cocaine,
With ether, nitrous oxide, wine…
Without luck, maybe turpentine.
I’m starting, now, tonight, to feel a
Need, perhaps, to test tequila.
(Please forgive my mortal sin;
It can’t be helped… I’m out of gin.)
Ok… the truth is, I can’t stand gin. It just seemed much more apropos when speaking of antique dentistry. Every modern over-the-counter dental pain deally is 20% Benzocaine, which really does dull (not eliminate, not even close) the pain for a few minutes… lulling you into a false sense of security, which lasts until you bend over to pick something up, or have to raise your voice to speak to 200+ students in a classroom, or, I dunno, breathe, or something.
I’m guessing there are big issues to write about. Wars, plagues, prejudice, bigotry, horrendous stories near and far… I have a toothache.
Shakespeare, once again, was right:
I pray thee peace, I will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache patiently,
However they have writ the style of gods,
And made a push at chance and sufferance.
Much Ado, V, i, 34-38.