Apparently, there is an unspoken rule that I was unaware of, that the majority of dentists offices are closed the week after Christmas. I discovered this after spending the post-Christmas weekend with an agonizing toothache and seeking treatment.
Unfortunately, my regular dentist follows the aforementioned rule. So, with relentless pain in my mouth I pull out the Yellow Pages and search for a dentist. After numerous attempts on Monday, I am finally able to get an appointment for Wednesday. Yay!
The severity of this toothache and suspected abscess called for drastic measures, such as digging through the medicine cabinet for the old post-surgery pain medication from way-back-when.
Wednesday couldn't come soon enough, but it eventually did. A few x-rays and some poking and prodding around confirmed my suspicions and the dentist cheerfully informed me, "Yep, you have an abscess in there. Gonna need a root canal and crown, but I can't do it until next week because I'm covered up and we're closed the rest of the week."
The thought of being in pain for another week made me cringe. However, he assured me that he'd be writing me prescriptions for antibiotics and pain control until my appointment the following week.
Here's where it gets fun. The nice lady brings me the estimate for the procedure, which was almost stroke inducing, and the other nice lady brings me the prescriptions: a regimen of Amoxicillin, to be taken until gone, of course, and Lortab to be taken every four hours as needed for pain — 12 tablets, zero refills. I'm no mathematician and was having a difficult time understanding how 2-3 days of pain medication would control this relentless, never-ending, aching throb that was about as pleasant as a paper cut to the eyeball.
Since the office would be closed until the following week, which would make calling the doc back for a refill a bit difficult, I decided to question him. Bad idea!
Upon asking him for the logic in giving me two to three days of pain medication for an entire week, he looked at me and said, "There are a lot of people who come in here just looking for medicine. I'm not saying you're one of those, but you could be. Did you know that our county is No. 1 for narcotic abuse? Do you know the street value of Percocet? Did you know you can sell one Percocet for $50? $50!"
After several attempts to get a word in, I managed to inform him that, no, I don't know the street value of Percocet and, yes, being a nurse that works with a large substance-abuse population, I understand what a problem substance abuse is.
He responded (quite loudly), "Do you know I recently sent three nurses to rehab?"
By now, I'm losing patience. I'm in pain, frustrated, publicly humiliated and ready to go home. I remind the dentist that my problem is an abscessed tooth (diagnosed by him), not drug abuse ( I rarely even take a Tylenol), paid and left the office with him shouting at me.
So is this what it's come to? Substance use and abuse has become such a problem that a person in genuine pain cannot seek relief without being made to feel like a criminal or addict? I was taught in nursing school to address the pain needs of a substance abuser the same as anyone else, not vice versa. What is the solution to this problem?
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