When you’re getting ready for a 3000-mile road trip and preparing for six months away from home, what’s the worst that could happen?

Well, maybe not the worst.  But pretty damned inconvenient.

I won’t go into all the gory dental details, but Thursday was not a good day.  And Friday?  My sweet young dentist saw me Friday morning and tentatively approached the subject of having my painful old molar extracted.

Since I’d been talking to the receptionist for two days about the possibility of just such an event and had been told there were no openings, I was pretty damn happy to agree with her.

As happy as you can be when faced with having a tooth pulled out of your head, that is.

My dental history is dismal.  Tooth extractions have involved months–seriously–of pain, infections, dry sockets, etc.  But I needed to get on the road to the lake on Tuesday, so I was grateful that someone was going to fix it so I could hop in the car and get going even if I had to store a tub of Percocet in the glove compartment to get me through.

The oral surgeon agreed to fit me in before she left at noon.  Everyone was really kind and took good care of me.  At 12:01 my tooth was pulled.  It took about 20 seconds.  I couldn’t believe it.  I am doing just fine.  It’s a bit painful, but not terrible.

I’ve been to the car wash.  Had the oil changed.  Packed up everything that is going to be stuffed in the back of the Highlander.  I’ve been to the bank and the Post Office, emptied my closets and drawers for daughter Nancy (who is moving in on Wednesday), made sewing videos for Claire and gathered all medications together in an organized manner.

In other words, I’m ready.  I’ve been ready.  So taking the weekend to pop Ibuprofen, eat pudding and curl up on the couch watching the new season of Port Protection is not going to be a problem.