The Dentist

     To say that I don't like the dentist would be like saying (insert some generic understatement here). This is why I am so careful about oral hygiene. Not because I really care about  my teeth, but if I can brush, floss, and have regular cleanings to save myself from the drill, I'm all about it! It's not even the shots that bother me. It's the noise of the drill and the acute awareness that at any time that drill can hit your nerve and your whole body will jerk. I would honestly probably rather have a baby than have dental work done. And I'm not talking about when you walk in, barely contracting, get an epidural right away, and sneeze a baby out. I'm talking about when you are having stacked contractions, they are having trouble tracking down the anesthesiologist, so you let a student try to give you an epidural because you are so desperate. It inevitably only takes on one side and you deliver a 10 lb baby. Or you have your abdomen sliced open from hipbone to hipbone and they pull out all of your organs and place them on top of your stomach while they dig around to find your baby. Then, after they finally locate and pull your baby out, they shove those organs back in all willy-nilly because "they will find their way home."
      I have not had a cavity in over 10 years (knock on amalgam). Unfortunately, with my last pregnancy, I developed such an affinity for ice that it temporarily canceled out my fear of dental work and I cracked out a filling. Well, somehow I broke it again and I am headed to the dentist right now to have it fixed again. I find myself hoping for a wreck. Not a bad one where I would get injured, just one that would help me delay the inevitable. But, knowing my luck, I would hit my mouth on the steering wheel and break all of my teeth out.
     My dentist is a big, burly man. He only speaks when absolutely necessary and he chooses his words carefully. He does not have time for my ridiculous female dentist drama. As I pull up to the parking lot, I can almost hear him being annoyed as he reads my name off the patient list. Last time I had this filling fixed, I was about 100 months pregnant. I couldn't have the gas and I also couldn't breath when lying flat. So after a few minutes of serious panic (I'm not exaggerating...I think I left a few bloody fingernails on the armrests of the dental chair) and having to stop and sit up every 10 seconds so I could breathe, he barely touched my nerve with the drill. Gigantic as I was, I managed to jump up about 2 feet into the air and he said, "okay, that's probably good enough! I think we're done here!"
  But I am here now so I face my fears and force myself to walk in the door of the dentist office. Of course the guy next to me is about 1000 years old and having extensive dental work done, including teeth being pulled and a lot more drilling that I am comfortable hearing. I am a nervous wreck. I am sitting there, heart beating out of my chest, thanking God that I remembered to pee before I sat down. My tooth starts throbbing uncontrollably, and in the 10 minutes that I wait to see the dentist, I have convinced myself that the tooth will almost certainly have to be pulled with rusty pliers or that I will have to have an unmedicated root canal done by a first year dental student. As I'm laying back, my struggle bun pushing into the back of my neck, and reciting every bible verse I can remember, the dentist comes in. He looks at my tooth and says that it can just be sealed. He sounds almost as relieved as I am. No shots, 10 seconds of painless drilling, and I am good as new! Coincidentally enough, my tooth feels great now. I leave the dentist office feeling like a million bucks. I come home to a clingy baby, 2 kids that won't stop asking me for food, and one who has been crying hysterically because he didn't get a sip of a protein shake that was made while I was gone. Um.....can I go back to the dentist now???

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