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Guest
Guest
I have this fear.
OK, not really a fear, more like nerves. Well, not exactly nerves, perhaps just a bit of discomfiture. Maybe.
You know how moms are usually the ones taken care of last in the family? It just seems to happen that way sometimes. Well, husband is finishing his braces (teeth are looking good!), daughter just finished Phase One of her braces, both kids and hubby have just had excellent checkups, my checkup was so-so, and generally all is well for us teeth-wise.
Except me. I'm the one whose much-needed work has been delayed due to circumstances beyond our control. Which means, of course, that now I don't want to even go to the dentist to begin on the list he's presented me: the crown buildups, and the tooth-covered amalgam this and that, and the possible impressions to make for the nightguard because of my constant grinding, the rebonding to some of my teeth, blah blah blah.
Makes my head hurt, my teeth hurt, just to think of it.
Well, we started today, and this was the scene.
I started at the downstairs admittance but that area was only for checkups and cleanings. No, the BIG stuff happens upstairs. I didn't want to go back out into the 100+ degree heat so I took the stairs and wandered around to find the new admittance desk.
The desk was huge. Enormous. As was the room. The desk was in nearly a complete circle with multiple passages in the large open area leading away into separate little cubicles. Secret little cubicles.
And from each cubicle was heard the sounds of suctioning and drilling. Loudly. It positively echoed in the damn open area.
Imagine Little Shop of Horrors for drilling noises, just not as much screaming.
Since I am a new patient to their shop, she doesn't have my paperwork. So she hands me a blank form and tells me to sit. I sit.
There is a huge display of magazines. Dozens, and in a wide variety. True, there's no porn, but they do a pretty good job covering most people's individual tastes.
And then I see a copy of the Bible. Why? Last rites?
I look around the room and every other person in there has their special medical form in their hands, but all of their forms are covered with important-looking writing. I feel a little sad, as if I've already flunked the first dental care test of the day.
They take some time to get to me, which isn't helping my nerves. Er, discomfiture.
And then I notice the song on the speakers? Abba singing Fernando.
It was at that point I called my husband and asked him to rescue me from hell.
But they got me before I could escape.
Now the left side of my face is numb and I feel all achy and pissy.
But the best thing?
I get to go back tomorrow.
OK, not really a fear, more like nerves. Well, not exactly nerves, perhaps just a bit of discomfiture. Maybe.
You know how moms are usually the ones taken care of last in the family? It just seems to happen that way sometimes. Well, husband is finishing his braces (teeth are looking good!), daughter just finished Phase One of her braces, both kids and hubby have just had excellent checkups, my checkup was so-so, and generally all is well for us teeth-wise.
Except me. I'm the one whose much-needed work has been delayed due to circumstances beyond our control. Which means, of course, that now I don't want to even go to the dentist to begin on the list he's presented me: the crown buildups, and the tooth-covered amalgam this and that, and the possible impressions to make for the nightguard because of my constant grinding, the rebonding to some of my teeth, blah blah blah.
Makes my head hurt, my teeth hurt, just to think of it.
Well, we started today, and this was the scene.
I started at the downstairs admittance but that area was only for checkups and cleanings. No, the BIG stuff happens upstairs. I didn't want to go back out into the 100+ degree heat so I took the stairs and wandered around to find the new admittance desk.
The desk was huge. Enormous. As was the room. The desk was in nearly a complete circle with multiple passages in the large open area leading away into separate little cubicles. Secret little cubicles.
And from each cubicle was heard the sounds of suctioning and drilling. Loudly. It positively echoed in the damn open area.
Imagine Little Shop of Horrors for drilling noises, just not as much screaming.
Since I am a new patient to their shop, she doesn't have my paperwork. So she hands me a blank form and tells me to sit. I sit.
There is a huge display of magazines. Dozens, and in a wide variety. True, there's no porn, but they do a pretty good job covering most people's individual tastes.
And then I see a copy of the Bible. Why? Last rites?
I look around the room and every other person in there has their special medical form in their hands, but all of their forms are covered with important-looking writing. I feel a little sad, as if I've already flunked the first dental care test of the day.
They take some time to get to me, which isn't helping my nerves. Er, discomfiture.
And then I notice the song on the speakers? Abba singing Fernando.
It was at that point I called my husband and asked him to rescue me from hell.
But they got me before I could escape.
Now the left side of my face is numb and I feel all achy and pissy.
But the best thing?
I get to go back tomorrow.
