Cut to me twenty minutes later: frustrated, nearly in tears with pain. No openings anywhere. I finally call Dr. R and lo and behold, there's a spot. I rush over as soon as I can, looking forward to the numbing bliss of Novocaine. The office is the first red flag--it's up a stairway (no elevators for the disabled, which is surprising nowadays). I go in and there's absolutely no one there. Ghost town. I fill out my info and wait a few minutes before they call me back.
I go in, sit down in the chair, and the first thing the dentist--let me repeat this: the DENTIST--asks me is how much I weigh. Okay. I know I'm overweight, and I realize that my weight is something that he might need in order to calibrate any kind of medicine/painkiller/whatever, so I tell him. He then takes the opportunity to tell me that I'm killing myself with my weight.
Okay...what the hell? I came in there to have a tooth pulled, not to be lectured about a problem I'm already dealing with. I just nod and try to be polite, waiting for him to pull that throbbing SOB tooth of mine so I can go home.
Finally, he begins the exam. And it went exactly like this: "Open your mouth please." Two second examination with the mirror thingie. "I can't do anything for you. You're going to have to have oral surgery."
Again...what the hell? He takes an X-ray of my teeth (which later turned out to be foggy and not in the least bit helpful to the oral surgeon) and I go back into the exam room. More discussion of my weight, more "you're killing yourself." I had to bite my tongue to keep from exclaiming, "Oh my God! I did not realize! When I woke up this morning I was a size zero! How did this happen!?!"
I ended up paying $185 dollars for a five minute dentist visit, one set of crappy X-rays, and a lecture about my weight from someone who doesn't even know me. And the kicker is, the surgeon he referred me to couldn't fit me in until July 1...so June was a month of much pain and suffering. Woot.