So, after all the crap-o-la that's being going on (k, pardon the understatement), why not throw another log on the fire?
Saturday night, my husband was in excruciating pain from a toothache.
I felt terrible because I couldn't fix it. And now I know what it feels like to have to watch your spouse endure awful physical pain and be powerless against it. Usually I'm the one who has to go to the emergency room, call the doctor, revisit the hospital, get a shot or two or ten... the list goes on.
I do not like the role reversal. I know, I know, it's just a toothache. But it was still pain. Bad. And this guy is tough. A rock. My solid anchor. My brave, brave man.
So I called the dentist. :)
Nope, not the one I used to work for. heh heh heh. No, I called my husband's dentist, who has been a bit of a mentor for him while he was applying for dental school. He came down to his office on a Saturday night (what a saint) and started the root canal.
And I got to assist! It was actually pretty fun*. And it was nice not having to worry about getting spit on me. Since it was, after all, my husband's spit. Dr. A was very kind to me. He and my husband had fun discussing the finer points of tooth fixing. And we got him out of pain, which is the most important part.
What a trooper. I love you, babe!
*no, I'm not going to look for a new assisting job and I'm never going to work for my husband on a permanent basis. Emergencies, fine. Filling in for someone, ok. But all the time? heck no.