I think the list of "series of unfortunate events" while we were camping was longer than I realized.
I ate a very tiny rock in our dinner over the fire. I bit down on it and it hurt, and I expected my tooth to fall out (because when it comes to my mouth I expect worst case scenario). Nothing happened, so I carried on. It has been tender ever since. Once we got home... a piece of something fell off my tooth. I think it was a tiny little part of the old filling. So I assume that biting that rock cracked my tooth. I have been telling myself ever since that it is no big deal. I finally took a good look by sticking a mirror in my mouth... and my tooth for sure is missing part of its whole. I think another dentist trip is in order. I can't help but wonder what would happen if I don't go. If there is any way around it. It's painful, but it's not incredibly painful. Ugh.
I wish going to the dentist was just like anyone else going to the dentist--and I totally understand that it could be like anyone else going to the dentist. I wish I wasn't so freaked out. I really do try. I put on a good poker face. If I have actually scheduled the appointment, I try really hard to actually go to the appointment. I walk the couple blocks to the office outwardly cool, calm and collected. I tell myself to quit being a idiot. I tell myself to buck up. I tell myself to knock it off. I tell myself to quit being so ridiculous. Once, I walked completely past the office and straight on to the library so Ry would still think I made it. What is wrong with me? If I make it in the door, I can be outwardly calm. I think they think I'm a moron... I think I'm a moron. He makes jokes about how everybody hates the dentist. I laugh and say it is not that bad. It is humiliating.