By the time you read this, I should be strapped to a dentist’s chair with my mouth wired open, a couple of burly attendants preventing me from making a dive through the sixth floor window. A pricey drill will be whirring and no doubt the root canal specialist will be asking me questions. My answers will be muffled as will my screams. Any dignity I once had will have left the building.
Okay, I’m exaggerating. I no longer fear the dentist. I will go meekly to this appointment because I know it’s the best thing. However, part of me is thinking why didn’t that sore tooth just turn out to be a cavity or a bit of gum recession? Have I been ticking like a time bomb for months?
“Do you do root canals?” I asked my dentist when he determined that’s what was needed.
“Why can’t you do this one?”
“Well, it’s complicated.”
Huh. Outside of romantic comedies, those are words you don’t want to hear.
Never mind. This will make three visits to a dentist in ten days, one course of antibiotics and quite a bit of whining to anyone who’ll listen. I know I’m lucky I could get it taken care of and that the root canal specialist will be charming and gentle and it’s a first-world problem.
My hubby said, “Imagine if this had been three hundred years ago.” I knew I was looking haggard, but seriously. Of course, he’s right. We are fortunate to be living in a time when so much is possible, even if some of it hurts.
However, when I get back if I have a few soothing comments from my friends and a digital back pat or two, I bet that will help.
Plus feel free to share your dental and root canal stories. Once I’m finished, I’ll be glad to hear them.
Muffled hugs to all and please, my friends, be kind to your teeth. They have ways at getting back at you.