I am a 38yo wife, mother, friend & sister. I have been married for 17 years, and I have two children: Music (formerly Karate Kid) my 14yo son, and Drama Queen, my 12yo daughter.
*I normally try not to use language on here that I wouldn't want my children to see in case they run across this. However, this story cannot be told without a few expletives.*
Today was my root canal. I'm an old pro at root canals, since this is my 5th one. Because of the pain I've been through, I was actually ready to go get it over with just so I could feel better.
My appointment was at 1:00. It is normally a 2 hour procedure. Normally. Today was anything but normal. After receiving the standard shots, I was also treated to 3 or 4 shots in the roof of my mouth. I was still okay with it because I told the dentist I would rather feel it then than later in the procedure.
Work commenced, we're drilling right along, and then we stop for an x-ray. When I say "we" stopped, I mean the dentist got up and left for 20 minutes and went to work on two more people. He did come check on me a couple of times, apologizing and telling me that he hadn't forgotten me. He came back to work on me some more and explained that he was the only one in the office today. He worked all of 5 minutes and then left to work on another patient. Back for 5, gone for another 10. After sitting there for 30 minutes with basically nothing being done to me, he finally came back and settled in to get down to business.
I don't know if you've ever had a root canal, but they have these little skewer/corkscrew things that they twist down into the root to remove it a little a time (I used to work for a dentist; you would think I would remember what those little torture devices are called.). That's all well and good until the Novacaine has worn off. I went from bopping right along, almost falling asleep, to dern near ripping the arm rests off the chair. "Are you feeling that?" No, buddy, I just like to fly up out of my chair periodically, just to keep you on your toes. Yes, I freakin' felt that!
Round 2 of shots with even more fun ones in the roof of my mouth. Basically we lathered, rinsed, repeated. More sitting around with my mouth pried open, swords sticking out of my tooth making it unable to close my mouth while the dentist works on other patients.
The third time he gets up to work on more patients ("I have three more patients to see and then I just have to fill up your teeth, put a temporary in, and you'll be done), I ask to sit up. 'Cause I didn't realize that the only way I had been able to swallow the fountain of saliva up to this point was because I was standing on my head. Just for kicks, try sitting with your mouth hanging open while you salivate excessively. Go ahead, I'll wait. Now try to swallow without closing your mouth. See that box of Kleenex over there? You're going to need about 15 of them to mop up all the spit that rushes out. You've seen those flooding stories on TV, the ones where the dam breaks and all hell breaks loose? Same song, second verse.
The dentist FINALLY comes back and gets back to work. Apparently he'd been gone long enough that the second round of shots is now wearing off. As he shoves paper points into my empty roots, the word "shit" is bouncing around in my brain like a pinball. I am unable to think of one other thing at this moment. Until they fire up the butane blowtorch. You think I'm kidding. I'm not.
Because I've got a rubber dam on my mouth, Dr. Genious doesn't realize that when I jump and say "Ow" it's because he just burned the shit out of my lip. What the hell was that? I am literally digging my fingernails into my hand, arm and anywhere else I can reach to keep from crying. Because how embarrassing would that be?
More paper points shoved into the dark crevices of my aching tooth, more bad words bouncing around in my brain. Actually, it was still the same one. Kind of like following the bouncing ball on the sing-along songs. Then comes the torch out of the pits of hell again. Now it's not actually the torch he's using on me, it's some instrument that has been heated by that stupid torch until it reaches 350,000 degrees. And he put the damn thing on my lip again! This time there was no stopping the tears. I had had ENOUGH. As they both turned away, the deluge started. I put my hand up to hide my eyes, but there's something about a quivering chin and torrent of tears running down my face and neck and into my hair that's hard to hide. And because I'm the good little people-pleaser that I am, I blubber about how I'm okay it's just been a long afternoon. 'Cause I've been there for 3½ hours at this point. But then I mentioned that that thing was HOT. He had no idea that he had burned me. He apologized, of course, and I spent the rest of the time apologizing for crying (cause I'm a don't-rock-the-boat kind of person) and praying that the floor would open up and swallow me.
When he finally finished the root canal from hell and took the rubber dam off, he could actually see that he had burned me. Because I have two. blisters. on. my. lip. The upside? The huge zit that I was complaining about as I looked in the mirror this morning just screams out "Look at me!" Nobody will ever notice the blisters as long as the zitmeister hangs around.
The kicker to it all? When I came home and told The Hubster everything that happened, he laughed. Could somebody please come kick his ass? I'm just too worn out to do it myself.
Posted @
5:37 PM ~
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