When I was a kid, I became well acquainted with the dentist.

I had an extra-small mouth, and extra-large teeth. Just wasn't room for them all. The solution for that was to remove about eight of my baby teeth and hope that my jaw got bigger before my adult teeth came in. When that didn't happen, I was sentenced to braces for four years and retainers for three.

Of course, the dentists and orthodontists were always male. They always had huge hands. I've always been touchy about my mouth anyway, and having men's huge hands in my mouth is totally claustrophobic. Panic-inducing. I'd go into the chair and they would do things to me without asking me if they could, or even telling me what it was they were doing. And I'd have to take it, because not taking it meant that I'd get punished.

I feared the dentists. They were distant, huge, and every time one of them got their hands on my I would hurt for weeks afterwards. Cleanings were torture, the scrape of metal against enamel, the awful gritty taste of the polishing paste. The acrid smells arising from who knew where. The instruments slipping and nicking my gums. "Rinse and spit." The xray film is designed to dig into the most sensitive parts of the roof and floor of my mouth. Thirty seconds with their sharp edges and they always wondered why my mouth was bloodstained even before they started in with the metal picks.

Then the fluoride treatments, after which I was not allowed to rinse to get the awful awful taste out of my mouth. Possibly worse were the dental impressions, made so they would be sent away and come back in the form of a plaster cast of my mouth. They had to be on my teeth longer. At least I got to rinse out my mouth after those.

Orthodontia was a new and thoroughly unpleasant torture. "Your bite is all right, but it could be better, you know." Again, I was not asked for permission. I wonder if it was because they simply didn't think of it, or because they knew I'd say no.

For four years, I had constant open sores in my mouth. My teeth would ache for a week after my braces were adjusted, and then they would hurt randomly off and on in the six weeks between appointments. I still have scars on the inside of my lower lip from the braces--they've gotten less prominent over the last few years, but I spent so long with that particular part of my mouth torn up that it will never be normal.

After the braces came off, I started getting fillings. This was familiar territory, only it didn't hurt quite as much afterwards as getting teeth pulled did. More time spent in the chair. I hate the way latex tastes.

And then, I was free. I went to college, and didn't visit a dentist the whole time I was there. My mom dragged me to the dentist right before I left for Seattle. The cleaning was excruciating, but no fillings were required.

And in the past six years, my teeth have shifted around some. My bottom incisors, especially, have wiggled and turned a little bit. I like it. Crooked teeth add character to my once orthodontiaed into anonymity teeth.

Which brings me to a few weeks ago, and a particularly vigorous session of sex in which I whacked my jaw on Chris's head and chipped one of those cute bottom incisors. I sighed and realized that I really didn't have any choice this time--I needed to go to the dentist.

I armed myself with a recommendation from a friend, for a woman who was mostly a children's dentist. I called and instead of waiting for a few weeks, I was scheduled for the very next day.

After the panic wore off, i found myself yet again in the chair, explaining about how my mouth was very sensitive and very small. And how i hadn't been to the dentist in six years because it hurt. And. And. And.

When there was no more talking to do, I was strapped in (figuratively, not literally) and she started poking around in my mouth. The first surprise is that they do a craniofacial exam before they even get into your mouth these days. She pressed on various parts of my face to see if anything hurt. Nope, nothing. Then she took xrays (which STILL HURT OW OW OW OW OW but my mouth wasn't actually cut by them, which is a pleasant improvement) and then started poking around in my mouth with a pick.

She seemed to be taking an inventory of all of my teeth, calling out the number of the tooth and some acronyms, which I assumed meant things like how healthy the gum was and to what extent there was tartar. Her assistant wrote all of this down. She also said, "Well, you weren't kidding when you said your mouth was small! Your lower floor here is really shallow. Oh, and your palatal ridge is really prominent."

Among the damage that six years sans dentist had done was one filling that was crumbling and one that was ready to, and three places where there were multi-tooth patches of decay. It was news I was expecting, though I wasn't exactly happy to hear it.

And then came the actual cleaning.

It still hurts a goddamned lot. But there have been innovations since I was last at the dentist! Like the topical gel that numbed my gums enough that I didn't have to white-knuckle my way through the tartar cleaning. And the ultrasonic pick that made short work of my tartar. And cleaning paste that doesn't burn my mouth.

Yesterday, I went back for my first set of fillings. She had to drill out an old filling and refill it, and fill the two teeth next to it. Again, the topical gel made an appearance and made getting the numbing shots pretty easy. More exciting innovations followed, including a dental dam through which the lower right side of my mouth looked like a model of teeth rather than real teeth, and a bite block for me to rest my jaws against. The filling material she used what the tooth-colored composite, so my back teeth on that side now look all fresh and new.

The drilling lasted an hour and a half. When it was done, I was numb and sore and drove back to work, where I proceeded to feel not very well for the rest of the day--my entire face hurt, and especially the places that had the fillings in them. I have one more appointment scheduled for next week, and then I'm done until January, when my insurance has a whole fresh new limit on it.

In the mean time, the spa day i've promised myself is slipping farther and farther out into the future, because with all of these dentist appointments I would feel badly about taking off a whole day for myself. I have too much to do as it is.

But at least my teeth are clean and strong.

previous entry   next entry
before | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | after

the new zero
| archives | reads | backstory | cast | what | why?
home
email