The Crock and the Dentist

I had to go to the dentist today.
I was scheduled for a cleaning.
But once I got there, the dentist noticed a tooth that could use a filling. “Some dentists would say fill it,” she said, “but I say wait and see.”
But then I said…
“Let’s just fill it.” I thought this was the mature, adult way to handle the situation. I thought I was being terribly brave about the whole thing. “If it’s going to get filled anyways, let’s just do it. But, uh, could you give me a sedative first?”

I’ve only had two cavities filled in my life. The first time, I was caught unawares. It was about four years ago, in Tampa. When he said “filling” I had no way of knowing he meant the kind that involves drilling. I’ve never had anyone drill into my tooth’s nerve endings before, so I could not even imagine a pain like the kind I felt. It is strange torture, drilling on someone’s tooth’s nerve endings. I have the feeling medieval war criminals would have really enjoyed that idea.

The second time was a little more than two years ago. The dentist told me I had seven cavities. Seven. Cavities. I’ve only ever had one cavity, and now I have seven? Ok. I told my doctor that if I had to get seven cavities filled, I was going to need some Valium to make that appointment. So I took some Valium, and I took some more, and I took more and more to the point that I was hallucinating in the waiting room, but I was not relaxed. I refused Novocain, because for some reason, the idea of having a needle in my mouth was far more terrifying than someone drilling into my teeth’s nerve endings. The rest of the appointment went well.

So today, when I manfully set aside my terror and decided to go ahead and get it over with (some day soon, I promise!), the doctor tells me she will give me a prescription for 5mg of Valium. Ok, apparently we’re not on the same page here, Doc. If I’m not going to get a decent amount of drugs out of this, just do it now. There is no possible way this woman will ever believe the dosage it would take me to be relaxed for this to happen. If I even mention the word “Klonapin,” she’ll immediately assume I’m trying to score a prescription I can sell on the street. So just. Fucking. Do. It.

She gave me some Novocain. Supposedly to “numb the pain.” If you’ve never had the pleasure of getting a shot of Novocain in your mouth, imagine what pouring liquid magma into the blood vessels in your jaw would feel like. Not pleasant. And to keep it from hurting too much, the doctor has to do it very very slowly, so that goddamn needle is in your mouth for a fucking minute, jabbing your gum.

Then the drilling begins. She asked me if I am numb (and I’m like, emotionally?), I look at her like, how’m I supposed to know that? She asks me if my lips are numb. Yes, lips definitely numb. So she begins to drill, and I try to be all zen about it, and for a while, it does not hurt. And then that old familiar feeling, set to the sound of a high-pitched buzz saw. Then I’m falling into a black hole centered in the heart of my molar. My whole body tensed like I was attempting shoot up out of my body. “Does that hurt?” she asks. Uh, yeah. “Do you want more Novocain?” NOOOOOOoooo. No. Thank you. No. Get it over with.

For the next five minutes, I endured a sensation that made me wonder exactly how painful is childbirth? I’m the lucky girl with the low pain threshold and the drug tolerance of a linebacker. I was right, in one respect though. Pain is temporary… but swelling lasts for at least twelve hours.