My Masochistic Valentine

So I haven't been to the dentist for over a year now, not because I choose not to go, even tho everybody knows exactly how much I enjoy going to the dentist, but because for a while, I didn't have health insurance. When I did, however (thank you SBHCS), I kinda forgot about going. Silly me. Fast forward to last week. I make an appointment to go see Dr. T., my wonderful teeth specialist. Wouldn't ya know it, the earliest appointment I could get was none other than Feb. 14, valentines day. Not that I had big plans, mind you, but still, going to the dentist on such a day somehow does not make for a very wonderful hallmark memory. So, this morning, I trudged out to the driveway, and for 15 minutes, proceeded to scrape, chisel, and thaw my frozen car out of this miserable arctic blast. When I finally left, I realized that I was late for my appointment. Super. Having forgotten my cell, I could not phone the office to tell them I was running behind. I certainly wasn't planning on speeding, although I was quite tempted, despite the slick road conditions. I figured, no dentist's appointment is worth getting my ass in a wreck. Sure enough, I pass by 3 accidents on the way. 2 spinouts and one pickup that lost control and ran straight into the woods. Hopefully everyone involved was ok.

The dentist's office. Luckily, the 10am spot cancelled so I was ok. Dr. T. did his usual schtick, cleaning, x rays, flossing and prodding (dear God, the prodding). I so hate that torture device that more or less resembles a hook/pick on a handle...you know, the one they use to scrape out your gumline (or right below it) and poke right through in between the spaces of your teeth, yea that one. It was enough to make my ass pucker. As if that wasn't enough, Dr. T tells me that I have a cavity brewing in my lower right molar, the very last one. Marvelous. And here I thought it was just going to be another routine visit. So I decided to consolidate all of my woes and have the repair work over and done with. Two novacaine shots to the jaw later and the right side of my face felt like Rocky after 14 rounds with Ivan Drago. Then the drill starts. Black chunks of old filling fly all over the inside of my mouth (lucky that the suction was going) and just when I thought the worst was over, the pain hits me. I thought "wait a minute...I just played the part of the pin cushion so that I'd spare myself the trauma, but still, that drill is doing a world of hurt! What the fuck?!" (Now try saying that with a vacuum in your mouth). I raise my hand, and the doctor says, "oh, that part of the mouth is always hard to numb just because the teeth are the thickest and are set deeper in the jaw. But don't worry, the drilling is almost over." For the next 2 minutes, I was seeing this nauseating color of orange as the bone-jarring pain lingered...the funny thing was, however, I was beginning to tolerate it. Who knew that I'd put up with pain similar to the one caused by chewing tin foil, but more painful. Feeling a might disturbed I asked myself: "Am I liking this? was I a closet masochist?" That scene was starting to come out straight from Little Shop of Horrors without the singing. I was quite surprised that my pain threshold was higher than I thought. It almost became a challenge, actually. I started thinking I was Bond being tortured, but sadly, I couldn't come up with any brilliant one-liner comebacks. Nor did I look like the part as I sadly drooled and swished the nasty chunks out of my mouth.

Then I snapped out of that weird-ass twilight zone by Celine Dion's "My heart will go on" being piped through the speakers. Merci bou coup, Celine. With the new filling all finished, I left the office with a clean bill of dental health, a floppy cheek and lower lip, and probably a sizable copay.

Moral of the story: Valentines Day sucks. Keep the roses, throw away the chocolate and brush your teeth.

P.S. My dog threw up on my bed.