What do you mean, no candy or caramel chews?

cc licensed ( BY NC SD ) flickr photo shared by eggrollstan

I consider myself a strong woman.

I don’t mean to boast when I say I feel I am fearless, feisty, and courageous.

And yet there are things that scare me.

The dentist is one of them.

Chalk it up to the bad experiences I’ve had in the past, or the dental office smells that trigger all kinds of bad memories.

Or maybe it’s the fact that that my teeth never feel the same after dental work.

Whatever it is, it fills me with dread and instigates a state of anxiety that cries out for Xanax.

Sadly, today I had to face that dread and to make matters worse, the morning did not begin well.

For starters, the bus driver that was driving me to meet my nemesis seemed to have gotten his driver’s license a few minutes before he picked me up.

He accelerated and braked with such force, I thought I would have to cancel my appointment on account of whiplash.

Instantly, my plans to do breathing exercises and visualization on the way to Dr. Dread’s, were replaced with fervent prayers that I would make it in one piece.

Thankfully, twenty minutes later, I was entering the dental office.

My butt had barely made contact with the seat in the waiting room, when my name was called.

My dentist, (let just keep calling him Dr. Dread, shall we?) greeted me saying, “I saw your name on my patient list this morning and I’ve been mentally preparing for your visit.”

His words, like foreshadowing, further reiterated this was not going to be a good day.

I was ushered into the office by his efficient assistant, whose idea of a handshake was draping a paper bib around my neck.

Dr. Dread wasted no time instructing me to “open wide” and immediately thrust a needle the size of a toothpick into one of my cheeks.

“Now we wait.”

Waiting served to make me aware of my surroundings; the ugly posters of the smiling molars, the bowl of sample-sized toothpastes which appeared just as full since my last visit, and four unlit pillar candles.

Aromatherapy, or had Dr. Dread been socializing after hours?

The thought made me smile but just as quickly frown, as I realized I was sitting in the very chair he might have socialized on.

“Do not move please.”

I tried desperately to channel my nervous energy.

I thought of slow-moving clouds, molasses, and my 90-year-old neighbor who got around with a walker.

I thought of snails, tortoises, and the Son when he was asked to complete a chore.

Nothing helped.

My heart was beating wildly even though half my face felt like it had gone into hibernation.

“I’m ready. Open.”

A hysterical fit of giggles took over as I realized how funny that sounded.

“If you laugh, we can’t do this.”

This sounded so much like the Signficant Other on a Friday night, it made me laugh even more.

“Bella, I have other patients waiting.”

His terse tone sobered me and allowed him to get to work with his little drill.

This was followed by arduous poking with a metal hook.

“Relax, please.”

Not an easy thing to do with Gloria Estefan telling me to,
“Come on , shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can’t control yourself any longer
Come on , shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can’t control yourself any longer.”

As I wondered why Bach wasn’t playing in the background instead, Dr. Dread was busy making mold impressions of my back teeth with a gelatinous paste so bitter, it activated my gag reflex.

“If you throw up, we have to start over.”

I squelched the vomit rising in my throat, thankful for the mold in my mouth which prevented me from telling him to “shut his pie hole.”

Twenty minutes later, and a crown in place, we were done and I was being handed a tissue by the dour assistant.

Unbeknownst to me, drool had made its way down my chin and was halfway down my neck.

My jaw felt so thick, I was certain it had doubled in size.

“I’ll see you in two weeks.”

Two weeks? What in heavens for?

“We’ll install the crown at that time.”

Oh my goodness, you mean I wasn’t already crowned?

“No candy, hard food, or sticky things like caramel chews. And no flossing.”

No candy? No caramel chews? Oh my God, no.

“Flossing might result in your yanking out the temporary crown and that would be a problem.”

All this agony and it wasn’t even permanent?

“See you in two weeks.”

Yay.

This time, I didn’t key the dental posters on my way out.

Instead, I swiped a toothpaste from the bowl.

I figured Dr. Dread owed me.
Big time.

What was you last dental visit like?

Can you open wider?

cc licensed flickr photo shared by heather

Visiting the dentist is one of the things I most hate.

It doesn’t matter who the dentist is, how fancy his or her office is, how many free toothbrushes and floss I get, I simply hate it.

I hate the dental office smell, the creepy posters of huge teeth with eyes and mouths, and the waiting room filled with other terror-striken patients that jump every time a name is called.

On this fine morning, my terror increases as the bespectacled little man who controls the tiny drill that causes unbearable pain informs me, “I’m afraid this wisdom tooth has to come out today.”

Wisdom tooth? Coming out today? I didn’t even know I had one of those, much less that it was having a coming out party!

“So…? Are you ready to have it pulled?”

Have what pulled? Oh my God. Oh my freakin’ God.

“While we’re young, Bella.”

Young? How young am I going to look with missing teeth?

Will I still be able to chew my food? Will my face cave in? Will my teeth move backward and leave me with a large gap between my front teeth? And more importantly, how much is it going to hurt?

Palms sweating, mouth dry, pupils dilated, I see him loom closer, needle in hand.

“You’ll just feel a pinch,” he says.

A little pinch like the kind my sister gave me when we got in a fight, little?

Or a big pinch like the one my mother gave me when I misbehaved?”

Silently, I nod my head.

“Open wide,” he instructs.

The last man that said that was the gynecologist, and that felt like a really big pinch.

“No need to tense up. Try to relax, ” he insists, while holding what looks like a set of pliers to my face.

“God, why do you hate me?”

“If you don’t open wide, I’m going to have to use the metal clamp.”

Oh no! Not the metal clamp. The last time he used it, I almost swallowed my tongue.

I shake my head no.

“Alrighty then. Lets get this party started.”

Okay, he didn’t really say that, but I realize I’m going to need some humor to stop myself from passing out.

In go cotton wads that look like caterpillars and make me gag; quickly followed by the “pliers.”

“I’ve got it,” he announces, as if he had just caught a fish.

And then the tugging begins.

To the left, to the right, and again to the left, the torture device moves in my mouth.

The groggy part of my brain starts to think we’re dancing the “Cupid Shuffle.”

“Clara, can you give me a hand here?” he calls out to his assistant.

I thought he said this tooth was dead.

Why isn’t it out already?

Panic starts to set in. I can’t swallow. There’s a taste of blood in my mouth.

The tugging continues.

His assistant joins the fun and presses my shoulders into the seat.

In spite of the anesthetic, I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience; witnessing the onslaught.

Panic increases and I begin to think that any moment, the dentist is going to climb on top of my chest to get more leverage.

And this isn’t a strange thought, given he appears to be having a “take no prisoners” day.

“It’s almost out.”

Suddenly, I start having flashbacks of when I was giving birth and realize that this pain is ten times worse.

“It’s coming!”

Finish it off already, for the love of Pete.

“Here it is!” he proudly exclaims as he shows me the tooth that until fifteen minutes ago, resided in my mouth.

I wipe the blood trickling from the corners of my mouth and realize I must look like one of the vampires from Twilight.

A tear makes its way down my cheek.

It’s been only a few minutes, and already it feels like a part of me is missing.

With a satisfied look on his face, the dentist says, “No complications. I was able to yank it out whole.”

(Like this is supposed to make me feel better.)

With drool making its way down my chin, I say, “Zee you in zis months.”

It appears the anesthesia has left me with a lisp.

“Unless I have to pull out the one from the opposite quadrant.”

Are you kidding me? I’d sooner light myself on fire.

As I weakly limp out of the office, I “key” every poster lining the hallway.

There, I feel better already.

How do you make it through your dental visits?