Last week I visited the dentist. Again. I not-so-cleverly managed to break a tooth, and repairing it has been a constant and ongoing dental adventure. But that is another story for another time. Perhaps once the shock of paying the bill has faded…
I don’t know if Korean dentists are stingy with their anesthetic or I am larger than their average patient but for whatever reason, I didn’t stay frozen nearly long enough. My guess is that it’s the latter; I extended off both ends of the dentist’s chair and had to crouch to use the X-ray machine.
In considerable pain, I left the dentist and headed for the nearest pharmacist.
“Dentist. Pain. Drugs please,” I said, pointing at my swollen face and wishing I had paid more attention when we had covered medical words in Korean class.
The pharmacist nodded sympathetically and handed me this:
“Pain, no,” he said, smiling at me kindly.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t take pretty yellow pills from a stranger. My Mom taught me well. But my head felt like it was about to implode. I paid, thanked him, and headed home.
But once I got home, I found I just couldn’t take it. Perhaps I’ve watched too many cop shows but there was just something sketchy about a single, unmarked pill in a tiny, unlabeled Ziploc bag.
I decided to take some Advil and go to bed instead.