Dentist Cubed

Bee Gees Song of the Day: I’ve Gotta Get A Message to You

Well, the preacher turned to me
and he smiled.
He said, "Come and walk with me,
come and walk one more mile."

Am not having a lot of luck at the dentist.

Today, visit three, I expected my shiny new crowns to be introduced to their new home. I had a sneaking suspicion that Dr. would also want to extract that wisdom tooth he’d been eying since my first visit. I had prepared my defense.

You see, if you’ve been following my aural drama, you might remember that I haven’t had a whole lot of luck with being pain free after my dental visits of late. My first visit required the re-cementing of my other crown. After my visit, I berated myself for the big baby I was, tried to tough it out as the pain kept getting worse. Gums were swollen, warm, and sensitive. My work colleagues expressed concern because of the upcoming Labor Day long weekend, and urged me to call the doctor to get a prescription called in for the infection and the pain.

On Saturday, I had to go to Confession. I deliberately waited to take my 800mg of motrin for several hours so that Father couldn’t recognize my voice. “Bleeh me fahdah, foh ah hab sihn. Eh haz beeh sicks weex sihn mah las cuhfeshoh.”

I was a mess.

Visit two, alluded to briefly two weeks ago, was my dual root canal. Three hours in the chair. 8:30 am – 11:30 am. I was not competent for the rest of the day; the pain was all-consuming. I called in to work to alert them that I would not be in, I went to the store, filled the prescriptions for the pain meds, and lay down on the couch for the remainder of the day, nursing my wounds. I wisely stayed ahead of the pain for the rest of the weekend, stopped taking the more powerful stuff after a day and ate soft things until I could tolerate chewing. It was all good.

So we come to today. As I suspected, Dr. Dentist wanted not only to insert the crowns, but extract my wisdom tooth. Nope. My sons are coming down to visit me and since Dr. has an 0 for 2 record with me, I wasn’t going to willingly deal with any pain over the weekend.

“Can I schedule another visit? I have family coming in.”

“Sure sure, but it’s nothing to pull, that’s going to come right out. It’s no problem.” Not taking a chance doc…I said in my head. He proceeded take out the temporary crowns. Which hurt, surprisingly. “That tooth is sensitive, Dr.”

“Well it should be! HAHAHAHAHAHA! There are nerves in there! Heheheheh”

See, I thought that when one got a root canal, all the roots were drilled out in a pulpy mess. Looking at myself in the mirror during hour 2, solidified that assumption; there was blood and junk everywhere. I was puzzled, but starting to feel ignorant in the Land of Toothy so I didn’t say anything.

I should have.

Maybe sometimes they leave bits of nerve in, maybe? I don’t know. Any dentists out there care to weigh in? I trust, I trust. Surely he must know what he’s doing. I’m locked in this chair, I have to trust the man. He won’t kill me. I’ll get over it. I won the battle for my wisdom tooth, didn’t I?

So we begin. Permanent crown #1 is shoved into the gaping gum hole. Ew. Feels big. He’s a doctor, he knows what he’s doing, he just has to shove more. Here comes permanent crown #2 pressed into action. They don’t fit. Out they come. In comes a drill. He’s drilling my existing enamel. No pain in gum hole #1. Good, good. AHHHHHHHHHHHH. PAIN IN 2! PAIN IN 2! PAIN IN 2!

“Sorry sorry.” He keeps drilling. I’m gripping the arms of the chair, my heart starts racing, I start sweating. Don't they give Novocaine for this? My breathing becomes shallowed. Crowns violate my gum holes again. “Bite.” Eff. Even I can tell they are freakishly big. WTF?

Not. The. Effing. Drill. Again.

More filing of my nervy tooth hole #2. My body arches slightly. “Sorry sorry”. He stops. He starts filing down (what I have been told are called) the opposing teeth; the bottom teeth. He is taking what little good enamel I have left in my mouth and is sanding it down. Sure, hell, eff, I don’t need that. Just give me some muthereffing drugs now you effing wad of…., I shriek in my head, as I cling to the hope that it won’t be much longer.

More shoving. More biting on some magic piece of plastic. More filing of good enamel. He’s staying away from nerve hole #2 now. More shoving. More biting. It still feels mammoth in my gum but I no longer care. More opposing teeth drilling. It fits, the bite feels funny, just let me go let me go let me go. Cement was applied, I bite once more on an antiseptic tasting piece of gauze. “Back in five minutes,” toots the glib little eff.

I’m clammy by this time and shaking just a little. I try to focus on a magazine. A very very nice hygienist comes in, “Do you want a motrin?” “No, I have some in my purse from last time, thanks.” Of course, I didn’t quite articulate that as nicely in the chair as that reads. “OK” She looked a little sad. She was there when my body had arched.

She watched me as I gathered my things. Before I left, she bid me a cheery farewell, and was holding 800 mgs of motrin and a glass of water in her hand. “Here we have lots of extras.” God Bless her. I think she knew.

It was all business after that with Dr. Dentist; an urging for me to get that back tooth extracted. A tooth, which mind you, has been quite broken for 12 years and hasn’t caused me a day’s worth of trouble. “You don’t want to swell up again. Heheheheheh.”

Eff stick. It wasn’t the effing wisdom tooth the last time you effing crap hole.

Oh my. I might have to go to confession again.