Let me stipulate up front that I have a good dentist. Let me also stipulate that he no doubt took me on as a charity case. It's not that my teeth are super-bad or anything, though they could be better. It's that I am such a head case about dentistry. I would rather do almost anything than go to the dentist. Really and truly. Whenever I have to have the least little filling, I have to dose myself with Halcion, go under the gas, and put on an iPod cranked up as loud as I can stand it -- and still I'm on the ceiling. Someone whose name I won't mention but who is as unsympathetic to my plight as she was unsympathetic to Diana Krall's need to have me in the audience on her recent Dallas concert said, "Look, when you've given birth, then come to me and complain." Honey, I'd give birth to Siamese twins sideways out my nose before getting a filling. Okay? Okay??
So the news today is I have to have a crown put in. Oh great! That's just swell! Do you know what that means? It means first of all that you can't be anesthetized into unconsciousness, so you'll be aware of what's happening to you the whole time. And then the nurse comes in with a faxed authorization from the Office of the Vice President, nullifying the Geneva Conventions and
giving the dentist the green-light to bypass the waterboarding and proceed to the main event. And then they bring in a work crew of half-inch high illegal Muslim Mexican immigrants, all carrying unsanitized itty-bitty electrical grinders, and they go to work grinding down your tooth, taking care to saw slowly through the nerves. Meanwhile, the smoke from your pulverized bone is billowing into your nostrils, and you're lying in wait for them to hit the big nerve that's the trunk line straight into your brain, the one that's going to make your head explode. And there they are, with their tinny little voices, shouting "Allahu akbar!" in their Speedy Gonzalez accents.
Oh yeah, it's just great going to the dentist. I scheduled the crown putting-inning for Dec. 27, so at least I can enjoy Christmas with my family before the end. My only hope is that either the Lord doesn't tarry, or my head gets chopped off before that afternoon.
In happier news, a visit to the dentist -- to his waiting room, to be precise -- is always a good occasion for me to get caught up on news outside my own bubble. Did you know that Britney had a meltdown in the dressing room at Neiman Marcus in Beverly Hills, called her judge an "old fart," and wondered aloud if her dog could be "messengered" to her from her house? Did you know that Nick Lachey has porked up? Did you know that Nicole Richey and her lover are happy and healthy now that she's a pregmo? Did you know that Kid Rock wants Pamela Anderson to give back the half-million-dollar ring he gave her? That Diddy has knocked up five different women, and is married to none of them? That paunchy Vince Vaughn is not aging well?
I did not know these things. I think I'm a better person now. The cosmetic surgery addiction of Ashley Simpson is far more interesting than tooth decay, if you ask me. Also: my real dentist is Dr. Bukk.
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And also anesthezia costs like a bottle of high quality vodka (wine) and a big box of chocolates, that might be a little feast to reward the pain. But still i would prefere drugs.
Well, Marla, I don't usually talk about my experience, because nothing seems to get women more riled up than hearing about someone else whose birth experience wasn't the same as theirs . . . but don't freak out too soon. I had four children, natural childbirth all the way, BOOYAH. The first time around it was darn scary, because I had no idea what to expect, and the hospital wasn't really used to dealing with people who didn't want to be knocked out. Still, it only took about four or five hours, start to finish, which is not too bad. I studied the Lamaze method, which is a good place to start, but I found that just knowing how to breathe well and understanding what was happening in my body was the main thing. I highly, highly recommend the book Spiritual Midwifery by Ina May Gaskin. (I think it's been re-published under a slightly different title, but if you google it you'll find it.) It's the old hippie's guide to a good birth, covers everything medical in terms you can understand, and is the only book I've ever read about childbirth that makes it sound like anything you might want to do.
Larry is right, though, really. The "pain" of childbirth is not comparable to anything else. On the one hand, yes, it produces a wondrous result. On the other hand, the whole process, while natural, can naturally go badly wrong and you can end up really messed up. Unlike a root canal, which very seldom has any effect on your body once you step out of the office.
Fear is the enemy, I think. Pain can be controled with drugs, and discomfort in pursuit of dental health is just something you have to man up and sit through quietly. Breathe deeply, concentrate on something pleasant, and when pain and fear intrude, use your God-given mind to reassure yourself that it's not dangerous and it will end.
Mrs Pringle
C'mon, Larry. It sure looked to me like our Working Boy was making fun of himself.
Rod's dealing with a phobia. My son had a phobia of choking once after he witnessed his dad choking. He wouldn't eat anything but ice cream for about 3 months. He lost 10-15 pounds of weight.
My point is that we can only compare this experience of having a root canal with childbirth if we compare the experience in terms of having a phobia in relation to it. If Rod could make his fear go away by simply being rational about it, then this event wouldn't be traumatic for him. Which is worse? Going through childbirth or needing to have a procedure that you really truly are phobic about? After witnessing my son's reaction when he had to do something(eating) that he feared in a phobic(irrational) sort of way, I'll place my vote with the crown. Drilling is no fun when you can use all of your reasoning abilities to get through it. I give Rod credit for having the procedure done at all considering that he's phobic about it.
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