Oct 17,00

THE SAGA OF BUTCH'S TOOTH

I have this officemate named Butch whose tooth bothered him.

He would lounge about in the office all day complaining about the pain. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep properly. He got so sick of drinking soup and so inflamed with fever he was absolutely useless for almost a week. We would tell him to go to a dentist and have the damn thing removed but he kept putting it off.

When he finally went, the dentist was trying to pull the damn tooth but the pain was too much. Butch asked for more anesthesia. They gave him five (5) shots and still, the thing was too painful to come out of his mouth. So the dentist gave him a prescription for antibiotics. "Take 'em for a week and come back."

Poor Butch. Frothing at the mouth from infection and accumulated spit, he pocketed the prescription and got his drugs like a meek, good boy. (Or rather, a beaten, exhausted patient.) In 24 hours, the infection in his gums stopped swelling. By week's end, he was eating semi-solid food again.

The dentist was finally able to get his pliers around the culprit tooth and wrench it free from his oral cavity. Butch decided he wanted to keep it as a trophy of his week of agony. And so he brought it home and showed all of us in the office.

Six hours later, the dead enamel thing started to sprout black marks and curious other micro-organisms that feed on once-living matter. This final picture of it was taken before it started to rot for good and stink up Butch's cabinet drawer.

With this entry, we bid farewell , o Sacred Tooth of Agony!

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