OK. I know writing about the dentist is a stereotype. But I have a truly mortal fear of the dentist.
I REALLY hate going to the dentist. Terror starts for me the minute I make an appointment. I fear it all, every moment. The bad parking, the small, claustrophobic dank waiting room, the antiseptic smell on everything, the window in front of the receptionist nurses desk.
Wonderful dentists, as well as frightening ones have manhandled my molars in the past. One dashing DDS had leopard prints in his office, high tech lasers and tools, Giant white teeth with shiny gold crowns, and giagantic bills. Oh, and I always left with my mouth feeling destroyed. If I cried pain, I was labeled a wuss, and told to buck up. Buck up?
I WANT NOVOCAINE! LOTS OF IT!! DUH. If the decision is drool for a few hours or endure screeetching pain for a moment, I pick drool. I can get a towel and a bag of ice for a few hours and watch reruns on TV.
If I could go under, and wake up a day later with new teeth, veneers, and caps, I would do it. Please count backwards from 100 Mark… 99, 98, snore….
HEY. My new teeth are in today! Awesome!! Can I please have a bag of ice?
Our new dentist is nice, likes my kids, and my family swears she is the most gentle woman (and dentist) on the planet. I have shaken her hand though, and she has a firm grip, strong, yet gently guarded, like a surgeons. Oh wait she is a surgeon, a Doctor of Dental Surgery. Not what she appears.
She also has the patience to drive one and one half hours to fetch clean dry clothes for another persons child to return him to a day of skiing. This is even after she discovers that he needed them because he fell into the creek behind the lodge.
She may only weigh 125 pounds, but I have never been more afraid of a person in my life. I trust her though.
I brush a lot, I floss semi frequently, and have a cavity now. Maybe two. I know the drill is coming. I deserve it. Be kind to me. And give me lots of Novocaine. Lots.
please?
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