So. I don't think I love the dentist anymore.
Not because he hurt me, because nope, he was nicer than the school pictures guy and more sincere and he gave me novocain...
Wait, that's it.
In the olden days, when I had dental insurance and went the recommended twice-a-year I was used to relaxing in a chair and having my mouth poked. To paraphrase the Performance King, I had a "busy mouth." All sorts of things were going in there: food, tongues, other people's tongues, um, other stuff, and every six months the tools of dentistry. Usually I just went in for a cleaning. Twice I had fillings without novocain. Once I had to get a chipped tooth smoothed (yes, it was chipped while kissing).
Six years later and my shoulders tense up as my mouth is prodded, even though I'm looking at charming pictures of bass fishing in frames made of, well, ceramic bass. And heck if I didn't feel like a wimpy little wimp girl because I couldn't sit there without wincing as tiny power tools were wielded in my mouth. Sure, I was wincing because there wasn't enough novocain, but why am I so weak?
And get this: I have to go back in two weeks so a rubber-based substance can be poured into the empty roots of tooth #30. And then I have to go to my regular dentist so I can get a crown. And....wait...
I'm excited. See, 'cause I got to wear special sunglasses so I didn't get too much light or chips of tooth in my eyes. And the endodontic assistant explained the procedure to me in my favorite style, 3-2-1 Contact!. And that chair was really comfy and the whole place smelled good (except for the burning tooth dust).
Oh, and they gave me a prescription for vicodin.
Posted by Ida at October 23, 2002 08:30 PM