Wouldn’t you know it? I came into spring training feeling great – in my best shape yet – and was totally ready for the press conferences, the workouts, the obligatory team meetings, everything that accompanies being a Yankee fan. I was even geared up for the WBC, having signed up for MLB.TV Premium and convinced myself that the whole affair wasn’t just a silly exhibition.
But then it happened.
I experienced a sharp, searing pain in my lower left molar.
I’m talking about this kind of torture.
I whined to my husband Michael, who suggested various home remedies.
Ultimately, I had no choice but to submit to an examination by an actual dentist – something I dread almost as much as facing Roy Halladay.
The diagnosis? A cracked tooth and…”pulp death.”
“You need a root canal,” said the dentist, who launched into a description of the procedure.
I demanded a second opinion. “I’m flying to Birmingham, Alabama,” I said defiantly. “Dr. James Andrews will know if I need surgery or not.”
The dentist laughed and said I could get a second opinion if I really wanted one but that my toothache would only worsen as the day went on.
“Fine,” I said. “Schedule it. But I’m not missing significant time with my team.”
So I’m set for tomorrow – 1 p.m. Pacific Time – and I’d better not miss anything big while I’m in the chair utterly helpless like this guy.
No steroids revelations. No Manny signing. No anything until I’m back on my feet.
And that could take awhile. I assume I’ll be out of it in the car going home.
And then I’ll probably sleep off the Vicodin for a few hours.
But as soon as I come to, I’ll be at the computer, I swear. This game is about playing the right way, no excuses or shortcuts, even if it means blogging hurt.