Dr. Hairy Gives Me The Gas

Today was the Day of the Cracked Tooth.

Unfortunately, today was also the Day of Sleeping Late, so it was the Day of the Forgotten Xanax, which put me into the Day of Fear and Trepidation Like None Other.

My appointment was right after work so I didn't have time to run home and grab the relaxation tool I needed. Even if I had, it wouldn't have had time to work before I had to be at the dentist's office. It was no wonder I walked in with my fists clenched at my sides and my jaw set.

It can be hard to fix a cracked tooth if you can't pry your mouth open.

Dr. Hairy (part of his nickname) came in and tilted me back in the chair. By that time the Death Grip had taken a firm hold, taking part of the pressure off of my jaw. I opened wide as Dr. Hairy explained how he was going to paint a numbing agent on my gums before he "gave me some medicine" to further numb me up.

He didn't fool me one bit, because this girl's been around the dental block before. He meant NEEDLES.

It was at this point, just before I went totally rigid, that I mentioned it might be a good time to haul out the gas if he felt so inclined. Otherwise he might have to peel me off of the ceiling, and it wouldn't be because I was floating.

Oh no.

Thankfully, he was a good egg and complied. Within an hour or so my hands had released the Death Grip, the jaw was loose, James Taylor was on the MP3 player and I was feeling no pain. The shot of pain killer wasn't even that bad.

And then came the drill.

I hate the drill.

And the first inkling I had of exactly how much I hated the drill was when it began to hurt. Even with the shots, even with the gas, even with the everything. So I got more shots. And then the drill was annoying and scary but it didn't hurt.

Finally it was over. And if this filling lasts as long as the last one did, I'll be dead the next time it needs to be replaced.

I think it's a good trade-off.