I went to the dentist today. Upon climbing into the chair I shared my two-month toothache with the hygienist so she would be gentle with me. At the first glance in my mouth, she says, “Well, for starters, you’re an aggressive brusher. Are you using a soft bristle brush in gentle up-and-down strokes?”
In my head, I screamed, “WHAT DO YOU THINK!?!?”
But I responded with, “I don’t know. I suppose not.”
The low-level exam ended with her assumption that I’m being too harsh on my gums and that’s why my tooth aches. When the doctor came in, he added more to this assessment. Just as I expected, two fillings are required – one in the tooth that’s been aching and another in the tooth next to it. Oh yippy skippy. I can’t wait.
Oh wait, yes I can.
It was this downcast, disappointed expression on my face that prompted the doctor to comfort me with, “Don’t worry. We’ll give you gas.”
“Fabulous.” I can’t even look at him.
“Do you need more than that?” he asks.
“Whatcha got?” I give him two raised eyebrows, like we’ve just met in a back alley for a quick deal. All self-respect and bravery is gone. I want drugs. Hard drugs. Many hard drugs.
“Valium or Ativan. Have you had either of those before?”
“No, but both sound marvelous. One of each please,” I say nicely. In a vodka tonic, I think to myself. This is the first half-smile he’s gotten out of me all afternoon.
He laughs, saying, “No, we need to pick one. We’ll just stick with Valium. You’ll take one pill about an hour before your appointment and then we’ll give you the gas when you get here.”
“I can agree to that,” I say. “Will I need a driver?”
“Oh yes,” he chuckles, getting up from his seat. “You’ll definitely need a driver.”
As he turns to leave the flossing to the dental hygienist, he adds, “And try an electric toothbrush from now on. You’re an aggressive brusher.”
2 Comments
Comments are closed.