I went to the dentist yesterday after a severe toothache the previous night which was after one of my molars cracked – to which Pristine screamed there must be earthquake inside my mouth for my teeth to crack.
She has a point and even if she doesn’t I didn’t have the strength to dispell her claim.
Anyway, I hate going to the dentist and I am sure many can relate. I also hate the fact that I only come to the dentist whenever I have a problem, which of course many of you and good boys and girls know, is not good. That only means I care less about my teeth because if I did, I could have gone twice a year for cleaning and checkup (or carry a pocket toothbrush in my back pocket like my husband does – story for another day). But I just dont and I just don’t learn a lesson.
I have lost 4 molars at the young age of 20, causing my teeth to boogie, party and move like tectonic plates – resulting in me looking like Madonna when she smiles. I meant the gaps in Madonna’s front teeth, of course – which is only lovely if I had Madonna’s riches so I can fix the gap whenever I want to. Madonna doesn’t like to fix her gap because it’s her trademark and now fast becoming mine I am afraid she’ll sue me for stealing her look. Sheesh, where am I going.
“Hmmm, I’m afraid we’d have to do a root canal.”
The kind lady dentist looked at me with piercing eyes. Those words she just said sounded to me exactly like, “we need to remove your uterus by force or scrape one part of your brain”. If there are two words that go together that I fear and hate, it would be root and canal.
What I don’t like about going to the dentist? The checking up part where they have to stick a thin piece of metal to check the depth of the cavity drives me dizzy – I mean, crazy. Excuse me while I cringe, shudder and wipe my tears.
The dentist lodged the wire on my molar and touched THE nerve. The nerve that didn’t want to be touched! Simultaenously, I let out a scream. My mouth was already open so it really didn’t require much effort.
“Looks like we can save this teeth, Grace. The cavities didn’t reach the nerves yet though the long wire did.”
I can’t even understand why she was even smiling while I was wiping my tears and putting on my Labello lip cream (hey, constant exposure to dental clinic air makes my lips dry).
She continued, “So, you’re lucky! No root canal for now!”
That moment, I swear I’ve seen angels singing hallelujiah. I began to sit back and relax so to speak.
…until she turned her back, got something and faced me with a big injection.
“I’ll just have to inject you so you wouldn’t feel any pain while I clean that tooth and fill it up.”
Yeah right. I wouldn’t feel a thing though in other words, she only meant the torture has just began.
You know what? Sometimes, I feel like giving birth is so much easier than being treated on that dentist chair. Ok, my 40 hours of labor wasn’t a joke (without any epidural) but at least, I got something cute at the end of it.
But being in that dentist chair? One has to survive the suspense of the doctor ultimately hitting THE nerve, the sweaty palms, the mouth vacuum, the drilling sound and the drilling itself, the smell of plastic filling during light cure, the thought of needles poking and mutilating my gums. And in the end? There’s nothing cute – you are faced with the thriller of the anesthesia wearing out and the real world pain to set in and ruin your day or days and make you miss your favorite food…and that you have to refrain from talking if you don’t want the people around to suspect you’re on drugs. Thank God I have a blog.
It’s amazing how many random things come to mind when one sits on the dentist’s chair that I am so sure at one point or another, J.K. Rowling must have thought, while she’s being root-canaled, of a book called Harry Potter and the Deathly Drill or something.
I promise to take care of my teeth more. If cats can do it, so can I and you can, too!