February 2020
Five years ago, the last time I had a dental procedure, I puked and slid off the chair onto the floor. It did not go well.
With a steady flow of nitrous oxide that day, I saw the elephants from Fantasia as they drilled. Possibly, I even reached out to tug on their tutus. As cartoon animals pranced in my head, the dental assistant asked how I was doing. I gave a thumbs up sign because when I spoke everything had a disturbing echo, so I used the hand gesture. She interpreted the thumbs up as ‘turn it up.’ Leveling up on the drugs from the ‘personal Fantasia show’ level resulted in my body giving everyone present a quick, “nope.” It did not go well.
Seasons passed, my dentist of 30 years did not miss me, and I avoided going back until I reached a point of absolute necessity. Prognosis= 7 cavities. 7. Like the true hillbilly I am.
Yesterday, I had to tackle the 3 most severe holes. I knew it would be a challenge, but felt I had more information this time around. The nitrous oxide is needed, but makes me nauseous. Let’s plan.
“What made you pick the 8am appointment?” asked my dentist when he first sat down.
This is interpreted by me as, “I will want to go home after you but will have to endure the entire day.”
I replied, “my anxiety would have been higher later in the day. It builds.”
He turned to the assistant, “go ahead and start her on the nitrous.”
As she adjusted my face mask I made sure to clarify her name. She turned on the machine and left for awhile. It may have been 30 seconds. It may have been 9 minutes. But I began calling her name fairly early, quiet at first, until I belted “LLLLEEEEEEEAAH” to hear it echo in my own head and also, throughout the office.
Who leaves someone hopped up on drugs?
I do not like to feel out of control. I like to be in full control of almost everything. So visiting the dentist leaves me in a real predicament. I need my teeth. I like them, even. So they need maintenance. All teeth work gives me major anxiety. So I need the drugs to weather the work.
Poor Leah adjusted the machine for me a dozen times. Or at least, said she did. I was paranoid and my feet were fuzzy. Suddenly, I asked her if she had ever given birth before. My reference point was the tingling of an epidural but I never actually said that. She looked puzzled and I then assumed she considered me too medicated and likely turned the machine down behind me. So then I asked her to turn it back up.
It wasn’t going that well.
The dentist rolled back into my room. Literally, he rolled in while smiling atop his office chair with wheels. Like he was performing the intro to a quirky office sitcom. Following his little shenanigan, he gave me 6 numbing shots. I requested the barf bag and he threw wet towels on my forehead. He and Leah left.
Really, Leah? Where is it you go?
I sat for awhile. In my mind I visualized the numbing agent seeping into each root and nerve of my head, like the underground plumbing system of a plant soaking up water.
In my entire life I have never smoked pot. There are a few reasons, but one of the main ones is that I DO NOT like to feel out of control. I like gates closed. I like the things in my head and heart to stay there until I want them out. I fear recreational drugs would cause me to be careless with my locks and keys. Also, when I am around people who smoke, I 100% always think they sound stupid. They speak as though they are smart, but seem impaired. I do not like to feel stupid, unless I am acting funny-stupid and in those cases, those are my stupid choices, not chance.
As I marinated, my body would tense up in the chair and then I would give myself a little pep talk to relax. After a couple rounds of that, I managed to move my head, encompassed in the full rubber hose, to view the clock on the computer screen. I had been at the dentist for 85 minutes and my teeth hadn’t even been touched.
Would I live here now?
I feared that in my paranoid state until I began to focus on my feet again. They were tingly, as were my lower legs. They felt unclunky, smooth. Like I could get the closest shave ever if I just had a sharp razor. That made me think of the tattoo I got in the Fall, of my mother’s handwriting, on my ankle. And I thought, “they should give nitrous to folks getting tattoos for pain management.” And then I thought more about the cursive writing of my tattoo. And then I thought of my mom. And then I began missing my mom. aching.
And then the gates swung open.
Alone, in the dental chair, with a trunk coming from my nose, I sobbed.
Tears poured from my eyes and I tried to think rationally. But I couldn’t. Crying makes a person sniff and when I sniffed I got a new wave of the medicine, which made the gate keep swinging. I sort of gave up and let myself think of my mom and crrryyyyyyyyyy. My body felt warm and tingly, but also upset.
Then Leah walked back in.
Whatever she said was only one syllable. I could not clearly make it out, possibly “wow,” or “ohhh.”
She offered me a wad of tissues. It was hard to wipe my wet face around the fighter pilot equipment fixated to my head, with the added complication of a majority of my face being completely numb.
Overall, it did not go well.
My 3 teeth were finally fixed as I laid there and imagined Leah going home that evening to tell her boyfriend about her first patient of the day. Maybe while they smoke a bowl.
When I finally got home late morning, I dragged myself up to my bed. Hours later, when I descended the stairs, I heard my youngest child mutter to my dad, “she looks dead.”
Only 4 more hillbilly teeth left to fill.
Not That Good Grief 