OUCH!

For the past two weeks I have put off the inevitable; a trip to the dentist's office. I honestly have two very good reasons for avoiding the dentist:

1. My dentist retired last year and I have to find a new one
2. I'm a big chicken

I have had good oral health all my life, and if I had my way, I would never darken the door of another dentist's office again. Nothing personal against the doctors; they are always compassionate. It's the darn equipment.


I always get the creeps when I slither into the exam room. In most of the exam rooms I've been in, the medicinal smell of alcohol prep pads permiates the air, and the equipment skulks along the back wall, dark and foreboding. The lights are turned down low, and even though I know it's too make the atmosphere more soothing, I can't help but compare it to the lighting in a funeral home. It doesn't help when, in some places, they strap your arms down to the chair. I was told by an attendant that this keeps the patient from becoming unruly if something goes wrong. Umm. . . excuse me . . .but are things expected to go wrong during a dental procedure?

Okay. . .fast foward to the present. I did say that I had good dental health . . . until now. Over the past few days I have been experiencing pain you wouldn't believe. Seriously, if anyone wanted to know all my secrets, I would gladly "spill my guts" in exchange for a year's supply of Motrin.

This past Tuesday, my pain reached epic proportions, and I was forced to make the dreaded dental appointment. That night, because of the pain, I didn't get a wink of sleep; instead, I paced the floor and counted the hours til I received some sort of relief. At dawn, John walked into the kitchen and found me, in a sleep-deprived stupor, trying to have a conversation with the Mrs. Buttersworth pancake syrup bottle.

At last it was time to leave for the appointment. The trip was a short one, but to someone in my predicament, the ride was endless. Finally we arrived.

Hmm. This doesn't look too bad, I mused, getting out of the Jimmy. The exterior of the building was a warm beige stucco, and Christmas decorations were hung tastefully in the window. As I walked inside, I was greeted by the smell of vanilla candle burning from an undisclosed location. There was a fishtank at the end of the room, and a soothing nature print hung over an over-stuffed sofa. In no time at all, a pleasant looking dental assistant came for me. I was even surprised with the decor of the exam room.

The room was brightly lit and the walls were covered in a soothing striped wallpaper. Easy-listening music played quietly in the background and the smell of cinnamon wafted in the air. The exam chair, much like the sofa in the waiting room, was over-stuffed; a sharp contrast to the chairs I've sat in before. Before long, my dentist entered the room. His touch was gentle as he examined my mouth; his voice, soft and soothing. I found myself totally relaxed as he prodded into the dark recesses of my mouth.

"You have a great set of choppers," he said. "But you have a small mouth."

Hah! John and my mom would beg to differ on that one.

At the end of the exam, the dentist concluded that I had fractured my tooth years ago when I had my car wreck. The break was so minute that it went undetected, and bacteria had entered the crack. I have to get a root canal.
Sensing my alarm, the dentist was hasty to explain that a root canal was not as painful as people thought, and the whole procedure took less then an hour.

He put a temporary cap on the tooth, gave me a script for Vicadin and Amoxicillian, then sent me on my way. As I sit here in my Vicadin-induced fog, I realize how silly I was to put this off. I put myself through hell rather then being a "big girl" and facing my fears. :(