A pit in my stomach

I’ve just returned to my hotel room in Szczecin. I’m here for the second round of dental work. I went to the nearby shopping mall to eat at Pizza Hut. It’s my way of spoiling myself, as I don’t think I’ll be able to get myself to eat any sort of solids over the next week or more. Don’t judge me.

This time I’m here by myself, and I’m not feeling to hot about it. I have massive anxiety when it comes to dentists, and this trip will be pure murder. Bone rebuilding of my lower left jaw, four implants, two root canals and three permanent bridges.

The first trip I had the Doctor with me, and while I was likely not the jolliest of travel partners then, I sure could use her with me now. I’m in a strange city, with people speaking a language I don’t understand. I’m holed up in my hotel room, the room that’s going to be my world for the next four days – that is, when I’m not sitting in the dentists chair.

It’s incredibly anxiety inducing, being here. I feel isolated and looking forward I can see four days of painful dental surgery, and complete exhaustion as my body tries to rebuild and recover. I am not a fan, and if I could I would run away from this right this instant.