I have a toothache. It's not your average small pain, but a deep and powerful throbbing over my upper left front tooth. I can feel every beat of my heart in it, each strike of my pulse sending waves of pain through my head.
For that reason, I'll keep this short. We don't have a dentist. It's one of those things that doesn't really come up until you need it, but of all the strange and useful skillsets among the survivors here, the zombie plague seems to have kept us from having even one dentist among them.
The closest we have is Becky. Both of her parents were dentists, and that was her eventual goal. She had been going to school since I met her, and she worked in her dad's office as a dental assistant when time permitted. That said, she admits that she doesn't have anywhere near the skills or knowledge to do the job.
So, I'm going to let Evans stick a needle in my gums and see if he finds any fluid in there. The consensus seems to point toward an abscess, which probably means they'll have to cut the tooth out. I'm not really looking forward to that.
There's an abandoned dental surgery suite not too far from the compound. We've got generators. If we have to, we'll plug the equipment there up and I'll let the docs do what they have to. Evans swears he can make me a new tooth if he has to cut this one out. Again, not too excited about that.
Alright, off to the clinic. I can't work like this.