Into the Dentist's Chair...

...or "How I Went In For a Simple Six Month Cleaning and Ended Up With Three Not-So-Good Diagnoses, a Numb Jaw, PTDD ('Post Traumatic Dental Disorder'), and a Much Depleted Bank Account." (But I thought the original title I used was a bit tidier.)

Whew. So, like a good lil' dental patient, I visit the dentist every six months for a cleaning and check-up. (It wasn't always like this; in my youth, I thought, "Feh. Just like myself, my teeth are immortal." But when my brother--who had the same outlook I did--finally went to the dentist because of a toothache, he paid the price, literally and figuratively. But in all actuality, it probably had to do more with my wife urging me to go. But I'm getting a whole lotta digression all over the place...)

So in I went, no longer afraid of the impending dental drill, believing I'm in for a simple cleaning, no cavities, "nice day today," and "you've got a good window view" and "thank you very much, see ya!"

I should've known better when my hygienist said, "Hmmmmmm..."

"'Hmmmmm?' Hmmmmm, what???"

"Well...since your last visit, your gums have enlarged by about four times."

"What?" I scream. "My gums...that can't be! Oh my God...I'm a...I'm a...monsterrrrrrrr!"

After security was called to settle me down, the hygienist explained my options. "We can do a periodontal cleaning."

"What's that?"

"We dig out all of the plaque that's built up behind your gums with a laser."

"That sounds horribly painful."

"It's not," she lied.

"What's my other option?"

"You can let it go until your gums pretty much eat your head. You'll get the nickname 'Gummy' for the rest of your life." (Note: This isn't exactly what she said, but it may as well have been. It's what I heard at least.)

So I gave into dental pressure. Better than being called "Gummy" by the neighborhood kids. 

"Okay, first I'm going to put a topical on your gums to help numb them," she continued.

"Wait... numb them? I thought you said this wasn't an invasive procedure!"

"Here it comes! Yum! It's supposed to be strawberry flavor!"

If that was "strawberry flavor," I'd hate to taste the other topical treats she had in her arsenal.

"Doesn't that taste good?" she asked while a laser was blasting away inside my skull.

"Naa, ih ahes hohhuba." (Translation: "No, it tastes horrible.")

I survived my very first periodontal cleaning. Barely. But I wasn't through the horrors yet. The dentist popped in for a very short check-up. Now, I never even saw the dentist. She remained behind me while I was in a very uncomfortable laying down position with my head drooping even further.

"Hi, Stuart, I'd Dr. Liz and I'll be giving you a check-up. How're you doing?"

"Uh...fine, I guess." All I ever saw of Dr. Liz was her hand. For all I knew it could've been the janitor.

"Hmmmm," she says. I was getting used to this response.

"What now?"

"Well...do you have acid reflux?"

"Acid... What? No!"

"That's odd... Do you eat a lot of acidic foods?"

At the moment I couldn't even think of what acid foods were. My mind reeled with the possibility of chowing down on a hydrochloric acid burger followed by a wonderful sulfuric acid milkshake.

"No, I don't eat acid! What's going on, Doc?"

"It looks like acid is eroding your teeth. Where is this acid coming from?"

"I certainly don't eat it! And I've never had acid reflux before!"

"Well...you'd better check with your primary care physician. Soon." She left on that ominous note only to have her hand pop back in front of me to tap on my lower jaw. "Oh, and you also have a cavity down here. I think we can squeeze you in with Dr. Sue. You want it done now?"

"Ohhhhhh... Why'd I even come in today? Had I not come in, I would've never found out about all of my new ailments. I'm falling apart doc, just falling apart! Where is the justice? The humanity??? The--"

"You want it filled now or what?"

I agreed to more torture. Soon, a money lady comes at me, showing me how much I'll owe out-of-pocket, talking faster than an auctioneer on speed. She vanished just as she had appeared, the stage magician of financing, and they got me up, pushed me down the hall and into the waiting arms of a man and woman, just as happy as two peas in a pod, smiling their perfect, non-acidic, normal-sized gummy smiles. It's not contagious.

"Hi, Stuart! I'm Robbie! Sit right down in this chair!"

"Hi, Stuart! I'm Dr. Sue! We're fun people to be with! Wheee!"

I feel like I've accidentally been ushered into the children's wing. They hit me hard and fast, explaining things (as they would to a child), commenting again on how much fun they were, tilted me back, and shot up my monster gums with a monstrous hypodermic.

"You'll only feel a tiny sting," said Doc Sue.

"AIEEEEEEEEEE," I replied.

Then the drill got busy. It'd been years since I've had any dental work done. I'd forgotten the exquisite agony and unnatural torture involved. I suddenly remembered my childhood trauma when the dentists NEVER game me enough Novocain. It still held true today. Once that infernal drill hit on a nerve, my feet kicked and straightened, while my whole body arched and kept arching higher until I thought I might've been levitating like Linda Blair.

"Oh, did that hurt?" she asked.

"Eh, yeh, ih hut!!!" ("Hell, yes, it hurt!")

But that didn't stop her from digging a little deeper in the well. Finally--FINALLY--the drilling ends. My eyes watered, my heart hammered, and my knuckles grew bone white as my nails dug into the armrests. In sweet, sweet relief, my body lowered back to the chair.

"See that wasn't so bad, was it?"

I didn't even bother answering. For one thing, there was all kinds of apparatus in my mouth. And it seemed like the Donny and Marie of Dentistry had their routine down pat, not open for any improvisation on my part.

"Now, we just need to fill it. Just take a couple seconds."

It felt more like a couple hours. She applied the fill and brought out another drill to shave it down, at least five times. At that point, I just wanted to take my unnaturally protruding filling and get the hell outta there. If these were the fun dental employees, I'd really hate to see the nasty ones.

Finally, they released me. In a daze, I stumbled down the hallway to basically take out a loan with them while everybody still smiled their perfectly pearly whites set within their perfectly normal gums.

What lesson did I learn that day? A) Never become complacently comfortable with dental visits; B) If someone says they're "fun people," run!; and C) Sometimes the old adage, "out of sight, out of mind" may be the best way to manage your life.

While I'm doling out important life lessons, here's one: never, ever, ever, ever, EVER stay in a Midwest bed and breakfast. If you want to understand why, read my book Dread and Breakfast available here. It's a true story (total lie) based on the horrifying events that occurred (never happened) in a Missouri bed and breakfast during one of the worst winter storms in Midwest history (Meh. We've had worst ones every year). Check it out! It's great! Would I lie to you?