Dentist, part I

I went to the dentist today. I would love to make it sound like I’m an every-six-monther, but I’m really not; the last time I went was in June of 2006, and I didn’t go back because I got pregnant that July. In fact, I got pregnant for the sole purpose of avoiding going back to get a filling.

I think I’ve always disliked going to the dentist, usually because I had some bad news – filling, root canal, tooth possibly erupting out of the side of my face, you know – the usual. If it weren’t for my parents dragging me to all the various and sundry dental, orthodontal, periodontal, and oral surgeon appointments, I would be an adorable cross-bite and gap-toothed woman with a tooth coming out of my cheek.

As far as teeth genes, I am on what we scientists like to call a “mixed genetic background”. My mom has teeth that could withstand a month in a vat of Coca-Cola, and my father has teeth made from a dubious mixture of phyllo dough, caulk, and frosting. I think I ended up with a hybrid of the two – I don’t do so bad, but if I follow my general every-few-years to the dentist schedule, I generally need a filling. I’ve had two root canals done on my adult teeth, which may or may not sound like a lot – to me, it sounds fine and I’m just glad the number is 2 not 30. One root canal was easy – it was done by a woman here in Orange County who was fascinating to watch work, and that’s not just the nitrous oxide talking. She got into this zen state when she was doing the root canal. She was amazing. It probably helps that she was an endodontist and not some crazy hack dentist working out of her living room with only dogs as her assistants.

Which brings me to my other root canal. Go back and read the last sentence of the previous paragraph and that tells you pretty much all you need to know. That, and the fact that her skill with anesthesia could probably be rivaled in aptitude only by my cat’s ability to sing opera. Not following me? I had virtually no anesthesia. She had virtually no idea what she was doing. She had a dental chair in her living room and wore these glasses that made her eyes look about 4 feet in diameter – imagine Professor Trelawney from Harry Potter (played by Emma Thompson), but instead of the psychic abilities, imagine her holding a drill and looking very, very scared. I’m not exaggerating at all, it was traumatic.

So it probably comes as no surprise to anyone reading this (particularly not my sister who was with me for the root canal and I’m sure we both could use some counseling about it) that I need to have that root canal re-done. Root Canal Redux, I’m calling it. I figure if I make it seem like a movie sequel, it will be fun!