No Whining Allowed

Going to the dentist has always been a trial for me.

 I did not like our childhood dentist. He creeped me out.  I think he was a little too fond of his drills. He filled all my baby teeth. He filled all my adult teeth. I think he was an over zealous filler.

I was not lacking in my dental hygiene. I have always been aware that my teeth preceded me. They are impressively large. Hello, I am Capri Kel, and these are my teeth!

I brushed and flossed regularly, because I remember my GrandParents removing their teeth  to brush them, and telling me I had better take care of mine, or else I would have to to the same. I was not going for that  look.

There must  have been other dentists after The Over Zealous Filler, but they do not stand out in my museum of recollection. I do remember about 17 years ago asking my friend, The Saint, where she went, and she said she really liked  her dentist. REALLY LIKED him. And since I really like her, we gave him a try.

For the last 17 years, we have really liked this dentist. He has taken such good care of our whole family and I am quite sure I will cry when he retires. Because, People, this dentist knows me, and appears to  like me anyway. I may never find that quality in a dentist again.

I have a confession to make. I am a dental weenie. I would rather go to the Ob/Gyn than have work done on my teeth. And that right there is saying something, because I am not fond of  going to the Horse Dr. either. Not a fan of the stirrups.

I am a white knuckler in the drill chair. And this lovely man knows this, and tolerates it and tries to make me as comfortable as possible. He is ever so patient, and thoughtful. He gives me options, which I always appreciate. Even if it is only the illusion of  my being somewhat in control.

I had to go for a crown last month on a tooth that he had been suggesting needed a crown for a couple of years. I had previous problems with the tooth, but he had fixed it, temporarily. In my book, that was good enough. Because it would be unlike me to willingly expose myself to The Drill Chair. 

He would suggest it, and I would nod my head and affirm that I had heard  him. And then I would go home.

The last time I had my teeth cleaned, he brought it up again, during “Dentist Chat” time. This time he casually mentioned that if this tooth broke, it would be “catastrophic”. YES, that was the word he used!

Let me just say RIGHT NOW, that I am going to do my very best  to ensure that there will be no catastrophic dental work going on in MY mouth. Just say NO to casastrophic dental events has always been my motto.

I made the appointment.

I arrived with my bag that held the rubber dog nose mask for gas, that our family shares. I wanted to be prepared, in case I couldn’t handle the fear. I really don’t like to use the mask either, because the gas makes me feel like I will die if I don’t make myself breathe. That is more control  than I personally feel that I need.

He gave me the option of using the mask or not. See? Options! He said he would numb me and if that wasn’t enough, I could always put the dog mask on. He then offered to put the mask on the counter. I said no, I would like to hold it. It would be like a tiny bite stick, clenched in my hands.

I am proud to tell you that I did not need it! And I only gagged once, when they used the stuff that smells like acrylic nails! Maybe a couple more times, I’m not sure, I was distracted, and clenching.

Evidently, the entire office is aware of my weenie tendencies. Several complimented  me on how well I had done!

All of the above enabled me to leave, in no danger of catastrophic tooth failure, with my temporary crown. Which was a GREAT fake tooth by the way. My only complaint was my gum stuck to it.

I went back this week to get the permanent crown. I was feeling a little cocky. I left the dog mask at home.

He asked if I wanted to be numbed. Honey, who also had a crown last month (because we are married and we have to do everything together), said he didn’t even get numbed. I asked the dentist, what did most people do? He said most do not. So we decided to try that. For 3  seconds, until he blew air onto my super sensitive teeth. Then, he numbed me. He said he had fully expected to. Because he KNOWS ME.

It really wasn’t that bad. But there was a drill involved, and some tugging on and off of the crown until it was situated and I was extremely glad we went the other route. Because the anticipation of a zing is what causes the weenie in me to stress.

After all the “bite down” and the “tap, tap, tap” instructions, we were finished. And I thanked him most sincerely, for having the faith in me to think that I could have possibly done that without the numbing!  Bless his heart, that was SO sweet of him!  I am a weenie in progress.