I finally had to go to the dentist for a problem tooth. I didn’t want to go … but I like to eat (Cynthia Lovely – see, you were right).
Turns out I had a chipped crown that required numbing and the whole nine yards. I don’t like needles – not even a little bit. I shouldn’t have read Cynthia’s blog post about needles the same day I went to the dentist…
Yep, it wasn’t long before he walked in with the big six-foot-long needle for my one little tooth. It ended up numbing half my face. I seriously think that’s included in the oath dentists recite when they graduate from dental school – “… and I will make sure I numb everybody who comes into my office. I will numb half their face, no matter what.”
Then comes the part where you wait for the numbing juice to work its way through. Everybody leaves you to go tend to other patients while you percolate. You’re left to your own thoughts as the numbing stuff creeps through your lips and gums. Is it really necessary to numb my lips too? (Then they want to talk to you after everything goes numb — like you can actually carry on a conversation in that shape.
This is where my thoughts race and I, well … panic a little. What if it doesn’t stop at my mouth and my whole body goes numb. I don’t think it’s supposed to do that. What if I can’t breathe? Will anyone hear me squeak out “help” sitting in here all by myself?
My face is tingling more. It’s happening. It’s bound to make its way to my legs before this is over. How will I walk out to my car dragging my legs? The numbing stuff always renders my tongue useless, so why not the rest of me?!
I contemplate writing out my last will and testament.
Finally the doc and dental tech come back in. I’m saved. I open wide and they poke a big plastic slurpy tube into my mouth along with all four of their hands, a water pic and a reading light. I figured I could signal (or whack one of them in the head) if I need to come up for air. At this point, the numbing part seems like a walk in the park.
Finally it’s all over and I get to leave. I gingerly get up and test my legs. All seems to be fine until I get to the check out desk and get the bill. I hand over my debit card and suddenly my knees really go weak. I gaze out the window wondering how I’m going to get to my car dragging my numb legs along.
(The moral to this story is … well, there is no moral. If you have to have a “take away”, here it is — get regular dental check ups and relax — it won’t hurt a bit.)