"I am," Michael said as he watched me take a big old drink straight from the bottle, "an epic failure as a husband."
Undoubtedly that statement was influenced by my beverage of choice: hydrogen peroxide.
Because my dentist refused to remove my wisdom teeth ("You've got years before they'll grow in! No need to worry about them at 20!"), I got my first tooth infection two days before our 2007 wedding. A bout of antibiotics took care of the infection, and I didn't get another one for almost seven months. After the second infection, rather than treat with antibiotics and risk another infection, Michael and I found a sympathetic discount who would give us a poor student discount, and had the tooth yanked. I'm really funny, I've been told, on nitrous oxide.
The two top teeth grew in completely and without incident, but the remaining bottom tooth still gave me problems. The third infection happened less than a month into my new job in Ohio, when I was still in the "trial" period and had no idea whether I would have a job when that period ended. A kind dentist treated the infection for the cost of the antibiotics. And to keep the infections down, I was told to swish my mouth with hydrogen peroxide daily.
Which leads us to my poor sweet husband's pronouncement. To remedy his feelings (and to calm my fears of another infection), we finally decided to have the last troublesome tooth pulled. Because dentists in Ohio are much more expensive than in the dentist-saturated Utah, I forwent the the nitrous, and braved the drill and knife fully conscious, which was scarier than I thought it would be.
But now I am fifty percent less wise, and one-hundred percent happier with my mouth. And, of course, Michael feels much less like he is failing as a husband.