Posts Tagged ‘i hate the dentist’

For weeks – months, even – everyone has asked me the same question: how are you feeling?

And once I got out of the first trimester, my answer was always the same: I feel surprisingly great!

I could feel myself getting bigger, but I could still see my toes.

I could feel slight aches and pains in my hips, but nothing unbearable.

I could feel my body changing in all sorts of ways, but I could also feel the little human inside of me practicing his tumbling routine, so everything was worth it.

And it’s still worth it, but I don’t feel surprisingly great right now. ¬†Or rather, my teeth don’t.

I’d been warned by friends that babies take calcium, and some women are more prone to cavities and bleeding gums when they’re pregnant. So when my gums started bleeding more during brushing, I accepted that.

I was not, however, prepared for the type of nerve damage that necessitates a root canal. In two teeth.

But that is precisely what happened today.

I have had one root canal in my life, and I barely remember it. But I’m told I gave the dentist a kiss on the way out, so it can’t have been that bad.

There was no kiss today.

There was pain and drilling and numbing and crying (not necessarily in that order). And now there’s the anxious anticipation of the two follow-up appointments, so they can finish what they’ve started.

On the one hand, I’ll be grateful when I can chew again.

On the other, this is really not the way I wanted to start off my week.

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For someone who dislikes the dentist so much, I’ve been spending an awful lot of time there recently.

You see, I went a couple weeks ago for my routine six month check up. I’d been taking fine care of my teeth, still not flossing as much as I should, but not neglecting them or chowing down on sweets. Basically, same old, same old.

So then WHY did I have six tiny cavities? Three on each side of my top teeth?

It doesn’t make any sense! And it’s not fair!

And neither of those sentiments have any bearing on the fact that I have to get them all filled – in two separate appointments.

Last Wednesday was the first one. I had a few hours between work and class, so what better way to kill time than in a dentist’s chair? With a drill in my mouth? And so numb that I’m drooling?

During the torture, I realized that even though I’ve been numbed before, I hadn’t been that numbed for that long ever. The procedure was over around 3:30 or so, and I didn’t regain full feeling until close to 6:30 – an hour and a half into class.

Imagine trying to be friendly and outgoing and make good impressions when smiling makes you look like you still, “got a little joker action going,” as the boyfriend put it.

I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think that’s in How to Win Friends and Influence People.

So why do I bring this up now? Because the second appointment is this afternoon. I will again be subjected to various tools picking at my teeth and again have to go to class resembling a deranged villain. One who drools.

Everyone will be clamoring to sit next to me. Guaranteed.

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I was home (again) this past weekend, very briefly, and made a startling discovery while pawing through things in my bedroom: I still have my old baby teeth in a little purse, in my old jewelry box.

I’ll give you a moment to “ewww.”

It’s okay. Like I said – I was a little shocked myself. And while I couldn’t bring myself to touch them, I did shake the bag around, looking for one particular tooth that was the bane of my existence – right up until it fell out.

Let me ‘splain.

When I was about a year and a half old, I was riding my little plastic tricycle down our driveway. It’s a bit of a steeper incline, to begin with, and the bottom half of the hill was also littered with various sized twigs and branches. Not a big deal for a car – HUGE deal for a tiny trike.

I managed to hit one such branch, which flipped me head over heels over my handlebars, and caused me to land on my face. My dad looked at me, as I had blood gushing from my mouth, and determined I’d be fine. Mama determined that we were going to the dentist.

The dentist determined that I needed a root canal. That bastard.

I was strapped to the table (because, honestly, what 18-month-old is going to lie still for someone drilling in her mouth?), and the torture commenced. And in the end, one of my front teeth was yellow.


About 5 years after the original torture. See that one tooth to the right? That darker one that doesn't fit in? Yeah, I hated that one.

I must have tried everything to make my tooth white again. For the longest time, I thought that if I brushed hard enough, I could change the color. Or, that I’d be able to leave some of the toothpaste on, just that one tooth, to mask the difference.

When that didn’t work? I did my very best to pull that sucker out – even before it was loose. I tried the string-tied-to-the-doorknob trick, and bit into numerous apples, hoping to coax out the monstrosity.

And after all of that trying to get it out, I still kept the damn thing for more than 15 years!

Go figure. I never claimed to make much sense.

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