Dentist the Menace

I had a dentist appointment. I flossed every day. I brushed my teeth and I flossed. Every day.

I got a cavity.

Somehow, somewhere along my daily routine of brushing and flossing (and sometimes mouth washing for months when I had it) my tooth decided, “Hey, I’m going to decay in your mouth.”

This is my first cavity in my adulthood. As a child I had many cavities, me and them were like thirty-two peas in a pod. I was the pod. They were my peas. My hidden treasures. My little black nuggets of guilty, sweet pleasure. But the great thing about being a child is that those tiny chompers fall out to make way for a more permanent set.

And what a glorious set of sturdy white soldiers they were! Year after year, they held fast. They were tried and true. Strong and mighty. They could tear through any foe: chicken, beef, pork, you name it. Nothing could take down my army.

Except floss. The harbinger of bad news. The grim reaper of dental hygiene. The gladiator of gum disease.

Guiltily, I’ll admit, I did not floss on a regular basis all my life. Except for this year. This year I made it my moral (switch the letters and it’s molar) duty to look my dentist straight in the eyes and tell him with pride and honesty, that yes, I have been flossing. Every. Single. Day.

Generally, I would feel a slight pang lying to my nice dentist-man, but this year I said to myself, “No more lies! We will do dentist-man proud! We will floss!” And floss I did.

And so, when it came time for that final question, that million dollar question, I could hardly hide the pride in my smile, “Yes! I have been flossing. Every day!” I beamed, waiting for my praise.

“Really? Well it seems you’ve got decay here, in a spot that could only be reached if you were flossing.”

My pride was shattered. My smile weakened at the corners.

“Can you come and see me next week?”

Yes.

“Good. Take care! Don’t forget to floss.”

So, I went back into his office the next week. My usual room is the very far one at the back. (There are only 3 rooms). But this time, the lady ushered me into the first room. The first room has such a sense of urgency to it. No nice stroll to the back where small talk can be had. Right to the front where we mean business.

My usual nurse, the one who cleans my teeth is a nice old-ish woman. We talk. She remembers my major and what college I go to … went to. She picks and pokes at my teeth, scrubbing and scraping. She asks me questions. She takes her fingers out of my mouth so I can answer. She gives me a toothbrush.

This new lady was young. We didn’t talk. She didn’t know my major or anything about me. She held a gun. (Some special gun that hardens the filling).

Enter Dentist-man with large syringe. He opens my mouth and stabs my gums with the needle in two places.

Exit Dentist-man.

I am left all alone in this new room that I’ve never been in before today. The numbing starts taking its effect. I feel … cold. All of the blood and heat just got sapped from my body. I’m trying to look at the nice digital picture frame on the wall, but my vision goes blurry. What. Is. Happening?!

Then, the fires of a thousand suns flare into my skin and I get the cold sweats. And I’m still feeling dizzy in my eyeballs. My stomach is doing the slow churn, like it’s learning how to do gymnastics but all it can do is roll over on its head.

I want to die, and all that’s happened is the anesthesia shot.

My heart races and my breath gets shallow. I tell dentist-man I am a’okay. All signs are go.

Next thing I know there’s a tiny signal tower being screwed into my gums. I have this metal pole sticking out of the side of my mouth and I don’t know what it’s for. Then the grinding, and the whirring, and all the screeching inside of my brain.Banshees are wailing to be freed, knives on plates slice the air, fingernails on chalkboards pierce my soul – all this inside of my mouth.

And I am trying not to barf into my dentist’s goggles.

He unscrews the metal tower and pokes around in the newly drilled hole. Some rinsing occurs. Some suctioning. Some prodding with sharp metal tools. Then fumbling. And, “Dang it! Get me another one. Why won’t this just … Ugh!” All followed by forced whistling.

He is making me nervous. Either he’s got a serious case of turrets, or something is going wildly wrong. He keeps trying to jam the tower back into my gum, which I can feel despite having been shot with numbing anesthesia. And every time he stabs me, I wince. I don’t think he took notice. Or else he just ignored me.

Dentist-man finally gets the tower locked in place and anchored. But then more problems arise in the actual filling of the hole that he created. The lady puts the gun to my tooth. I surrender.

It beeps three times and she withdraws. Dentist is back at it. And then she holds the gun to my tooth again. It beeps and she withdraws. Dentist says, “Good job. Bite down. Chew. Feel good? Good! We’re done. You have a good day now.”

The lady gives me a cup to rinse my mouth. I swish. But it feels weird.

“Does it feel okay?”

I shrug.

“When you bite down, where do you feel it first? On this side or this side?”

I point to the side where my cavity-turned-filling is.

She grabs dentist-man and he tells me to bite down again. Chew. “Oh yea, that’s sticking out.” He grabs a tool and shaves it down.

She gives me a cup to rinse again. I spit all over myself because my lips are numb on the left side of my face and I have zero control over the muscles. She’s gracious enough to wipe my mouth for my pitiful self.

 

I leave.

But my tooth still feels weird. It feels jagged. I feel a hole. I try to look in mirrors. I can’t tell. I don’t know what a filling is supposed to look like. I don’t know what a filling is supposed to feel like.

I floss. I rinse. It hits a nerve.

And now I might have to repeat this process all over again …

L.

P.S. I am extremely sorry this was so long. I probably should have given a verbal warning to those who don’t like to read. Warning: this is a really long post. Don’t read if you don’t have the stamina.

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