I had my first dentist appointment in half a decade and I paid for the absence.
You see, I’ve had this lump on the side of my face for awhile. (I won’t define “awhile”). It would swell periodically and the tooth in it’s vicinity would become painful while chewing. I convinced myself that it would go away but Jay thought otherwise. He urged me to seek medical attention and only after seeing his genuine concern did I concede.
I took a long internal pep talk to get me to dial the number, but I finally called a dentist’s office to make an appointment. I consoled my nerves by convincing myself that I wouldn’t be able to get in any time soon anyway. I probably won’t be able to get in until August, I thought. So when the sweet perky lady on the other end said “how about tomorrow at 10:30?” I was thrown. I hesitantly accepted the appointment. And that is when the butterflies started fluttering.
Jay went with me to offer support. Once in the car the fluttering increased two-fold. My heart was pounding and my mind was overwhelmed with paranoid thoughts. I began taking Lamaze-like breaths.
It wasn’t long after my arrival that I was in the chair of torture. The hygienist stuffed some contraption into my mouth, ignored the fact that I was gagging, and took some x-ray’s. I marveled at how far the technology has come since my last dental visit when the x-ray’s appeared on the computer screen across from me.
My teeth looked sad. Their picture seemed to cry “what have you done to us?”. The dentist arrived and began saying a lot in an accent I could barely understand. Before I knew it I was in a machine, gagged and bound, with some contraption spinning around my head. Minutes later I was back in the chair staring at another set of x-rays.
They’re not so bad, I thought. Maybe she’ll just give me a prescription and I’ll be alright.
“Three have got to go.” The doctor announced nonchalantly.
“TODAY!?” I shot up in my chair ready to make a hasty exit.
“At some point.” She calmly pushed me back to the reclined position and started looking around my mouth with her tiny mirror. Then came the numbers.
” 1, 16 and 18. Yeah, 17 and 30.”
Oh god! I’m not gonna have any teeth left.
So, the verdict? I have to have the tooth next to the lump pulled right away! I’m on penicillin and on Friday afternoon it gets yanked. I then I have to go back in the near future and have my top wisdom teeth pulled. I had their cousins on the bottom pulled when I was 17. My then dentist must have forgotten about the others cause they’re still hanging around causing me problems. I also have two cavities to fill and a slew of periodontal work. Both my mouth and my wallet are aching.
As a consolation prize, she wrote me a prescription for Vicodin. And not for like five, like when I was having mysterious pains last fall. No, this is a full bottle with a refill til December! My tooth is being pulled on Friday. Why do I need to have a pain killer refill til December?! And does anyone else wonder if they’ll give me another prescription after my surgery on Friday? If I develop a pain killer addiction, you all know where to point the blame.
I’m terrified of my abstraction on Friday, so I decided to make myself feel better with a brownie when I go home. I know what your thinking. “You have to have three teeth pulled and have two cavities. Why on earth are you eating sweets?” Well I took one bite and I could barely chew it because of all the pain. Ooohhh, brownies with vicodin. Yummm!
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