They see me droolin', they hatin'.
I have a severely complicated relationship with dental work. I didn't have my first dental appointment until I was 23 and it was to remove a irreparably decayed molar. Growing up poor (and in an entrepreneurial family), we never had dental insurance and because there wasn't pain or visible issues, I was never taken to see a dentist. My dad got dentures when I was only 8 and it was incredibly expensive. We brushed and flossed and used bacteria killing mouthwash and had deluded ourselves into thinking that as long as nothing hurt, no other care was needed.
This carried on into adulthood for me and because of my lack of experience sitting in the reclining exam chair, I developed major anxiety about dental work in general. I didn't have another appointment until it was necessary to have my wisdom teeth pulled, which I was thankfully put under for. Then when I got the job at Safeway, because of finally being insured, I found a dentist I liked and started going in for regular care and maintenance. Once I left that hellhole of a job, I again neglected my teeth, which wasn't a big deal for me... until I lost big chunks of two of my molars and started feeling excruciating amounts of pain. So now? Now I'm paying out of pocket and doing something about the state my poor mouth is in.
My dentist is a dear who acknowledges the severe anxiety I have about being in the chair and graciously gives me a valium before each appointment and immediately hooks me up to the laughing gas. Thank Fucking Goodness.
Today while I was having my exam, x-rays, and cleaning of the lower right quadrant, my hazy and tingly brain drifted away... Rolling in the Deep was playing on the canned music piped into the office. My hands felt floaty and my lip felt fat and bloated. For some reason, memories of third grade started moving into my internal peripherals. ...We could have had it aaaaallll... I wanted so badly to attend the Young Writer's Conference, but only two students from each classroom were selected and somehow Miranda Gerberding beat me and got to go. ...Rolling in the deeeeeeep...The boy from my class who went was someone I had an intense crush on (something that rotated weekly for me as a smitten 8 year old on the prowl) and she would get to spend the day writing poems and listening to authors speak and attend workshops with the object of my pre-pubescent infatuation. I was utterly crushed. ...You had my heart inside your hands... I won the competition the next year and was able to go to the conference, but it was bittersweet, as Brandon had moved on and the boy who won it with me the next year wasn't cute enough to be on my radar. ...And you played it to the beat...
The squealing and scraping of the tools was over and I floated out of my weird daydream. They printed out the costs of the needed routines and their order of priority. I made an appointment for a week from now to get the next order of business taken care of. They handed me another valium to take right before the next appointment. And now here I am - numb and uncontrollably drooly.
