I had a dental appointment last week. The goal of this early morning visit was to generate an amazingly large sum of money for my dentist. In exchange for the capital infusion, I was to have a slightly cracked molar repaired with a new ceramic crown.
When I reached the office, I was greeted by a dental assistant who was clearly a card carrying, board certified member of the morning person club. Skipping down the hallway, she energetically inquired if I was ready for my little procedure. “I guess you could say, anytime cold hard steel and high rpm blades meet human flesh I’m often ready, but seldom titillated”, I replied wishing for caffeine or something stronger.
After being seated in the torture chair, my mouth was x-rayed to confirm the on-going presence of teeth in my head and to start the cash generation process. Successful dental x-raying involves placing a piece of hard, multi-folded cardboard into one side of the mouth in order to create maximum discomfort to the surrounding gum tissue when bitten down on. It’s also a good way to remove residual cream cheese and bagel bits from the site. If you are unfortunate with dentistry, as I am apt to be on occasion, the cardboard leaves small ulcerations that eventually develop into canker sores. Otherwise, you just get a pleasant dose of ionizing radiation.
The next step, and most critical from an insurance justification standpoint, was to visually document the offending molar through use of a small fiber optic camera. Of particular difficulty this morning was the small matter of my tongue. You see in spite of my best efforts, I just couldn’t get it sufficiently away from the area of interest to allow the camera to be maneuvered over the inside of the tooth. I vainly exercised every conceivable tongue muscle until an embarrassing case of fatigue sets in.
Perhaps if I was a chattier person, a real talker, or one of those annoying folks who just doesn’t know how to shut up, I would have had the endurance and flexibility required to complete the task. Not a problem for little Ms. Sunshine however. Lickety split, she cheerily forced a mega wad of gauze under my recalcitrant tongue, unnaturally pinning it against the other side of my mouth. Thus, a wonderful color photograph of my cracked tooth was obtained while I fought to breath through a microscopic gap that formed between the roof of my mouth, her latex gloved hand, the fiber optic camera, two pounds of gauze, and my very tired tongue.
Next on the agenda was the novocaine injection. Unfortunately, I am not easily affected by the drug. In other words, it takes a high dosing amount to provide a sufficient level of localized anesthetic effect. So that means a bigger needle in more places. The needle of choice for me is about the size of a caulk gun. And from the expression on the face of the dentist as he forced the novocaine into my gum, cheek and tongue, it’s about as easy to use.
Within minutes, numbness arrived and I lost whatever remaining amount of control I had over my tongue. It floundered in my mouth like a beached whale on shore. Answering a simple question like: “Do you promise to pay the balance of your bill today?” struggled out of my mouth as “I ah wanna no painy pleas zub”.
Finally the drilling was ready to begin. Now, I have one simple requirement for anyone using power tools inside my mouth: I want their complete and undivided attention. But as the procedure began, Ms. Sunshine couldn’t wait to start rambling on about a bizarre dream involving horseback riding, technicolor pastures, and the apparent manhandling of small farm animals.
At this point it occurred to me that the words “dental” and “devil” have many common letters.
In spite of this distraction, my dentist admirably focused on drilling out my molar. At the end of the day, that is probably why I pay him the big bucks. Inspired by his example, I resolved to focus on the high pitch whine of the drill blade as it ground tooth into dust.