Root Canal: a comedy.
2:50pm I arrive for my 3pm. I wish I wasn’t always so on time for the doctor. Now I sit, and my brother (who is my ride) makes fun of my anxiety
3:00 I am led into the “room” where my procedure will take place. The usual table with medieval implements is present, but this time it is covered with a sanitary cloth. As if I don’t know what’s under there. I’m hoping the Iron Maiden was omitted. I don’t think I can take that. I’m definitely sweating.
3:01 I put my phone away. Time is now relative until 4:45 when I leave.
3:02 I am defiant of the tech/assistant who makes chit chat. When I came in for my consultation, the doctor put the fear of God in me. I didn’t need it as I already anticipate these are my last few minutes/hours on earth. As 105% of the population, I am anxious in dentists’ offices.
3:04 My body reacts to the 24 hours of anxiety, and tears start protruding from my eyes. I’m not crying, but the water comes forth. I attempt to hide this, as I am still resentful of my last appointment. I fail.
3:07 The tech asks me if I would like Nitrous to calm me down. I understand that this comfort equals a larger tab. I say this and decline. The tech leaves to procure the doctor/Satan.
3:09 The doctor comes in and asks me why I am crying. I want to scream, “Because you are the monster I dreamed up when I was 7, and I didn’t know the real life form it would take until now.” I tell him I am nervous. He offers Nitrous on the house. I hope this isn’t a trick. I accept the gas.
3:11 The doctor asks if the nitrous is kicking in, and I inform him that the adrenaline and general angst I’ve been dealing with have rendered it inert. He chuckles in a condescending way.
3:12 NEEDLES!!! I get 6-8 shots of Novocain in my mouth. Now my heart is racing. I hope there is a defibrillator near in case of cardiac arrest. Upon finishing the shots, he informs me my heart rate may increase. I am dying. My hands have started vibrating uncontrollably, supposedly a side effect of the Nitrous. I am now convinced I will die here today.
3:18 The doc has let the localized Novocain sit. A black hole is now spreading from the right side of my mouth. I prod around with my tongue, but there is only darkness here now. More NEEDLES. 4-6 more shots.
3:19 I think the nitrous is doing something. I am not feeling high per say, but my heart has calmed and the shaking is gone. Perhaps I am still dying, but rather than fire and ice, I will die with a whisper.
3:30 After prepping my mouth with a rubber sheet and preparing the surgical room that is my lower back molar, the drilling begins. Admittedly I can’t feel pain, but I anticipate it will come. Odd smells emit from my mouth. There’s a forest fire, but no one’s putting it out. I fixate on a spot on the ceiling.
3:40 I can tell the drilling is deeper now. I feel pulling…but my mouth is so numb and dark that I can hardly assess what’s happening.
3:45 Either I am becoming acclimated to the torture that is passed on as a “standard root canal” or the nitrous is doing what it ought. The doctor has several times asked if he should turn it down. I mouth “no” as best I can.
3:50 The doctor explains he must stick an implement in my now empty tooth and put a hook around the left side of my lower lip. He says something about grounding the instrument he is about to use. I think two things. My tooth is now a hollow carcass of what it once was, and lightening? Why must my mouth be grounded? I anticipate a shock.
3:55 Beeps at odd intervals. I wish I knew which was good and which was bad. There’s some doctor jargon to the assistant, and he continues inserting this tool in my now empty tooth.
4:00 I finally have an opportunity to ask the question that’s been killing me. Does the tooth need to be removed? I want to keep this tooth! I gesture, and he asks me to talk. Insult to injury. I try to gargle some words with my mouth open and a vinyl umbrella taking up most of the space, but am unable to say “removed”. He makes me try 4 times, until he accepts my gesturing for pen and paper. After scribing the note, he shakes his head. “No! Why would you think that?” Because that’s what you told me exactly 13 days ago! I can’t say this, so I point at him and mutter the summary. Admittedly, all of this talking has made me rather drool-y. Now my mouth under the sheet is cold and, shamefully, a bit sticky.
4:15 The beeping is done, and a liquid cement is pouring into my dead tooth’s roots. I see wispy smoke rise above me. I now wonder if, when I die, this cement will remain after my teeth are decayed and dried into a powder?
4:30 Final lap of the appointment and a temporary filling (the nitrous has been turned off). Then x-rays. When the doctor removes the rubber surgery room tarp thing, he asks me how it was. I can tell he wants me to say, “oh not so bad.” I tell him, “not fun.” He asks “why?” Because I still can’t feel my mouth, my tooth has been reduced to a nubbin (I will feel this later that evening), and the drilling and smoke and smell and sound are unsettling. He tells me I am a drama queen. I don’t understand. You can’t pass this off as a normal Tuesday afternoon, can you? You give me pain and suffering and I’m supposed to accept that as a nice chai late on the house. YOU are the one who told me to include ibuprofen and Tylenol in my diet on a regimented basis. And that was 24 hours before!
4:40 I’ve been told that even a piece of lettuce improperly masticated can dislodge the temporary filling. I swear I will not eat for the next 10 days, as I don’t intend to shatter my tooth.
4:45 The front lady, who is sweet, asks me how it went. Why?! Guess what, it wasn’t a wine tasting on a Saturday afternoon. What review can I give? It was miserable, but perhaps it could have been more miserable…?
4:46 That’ll be $220 dollars. Thank God I have insurance that covers 80% of the procedure, but Jesus! I chose the wrong week to also go to the eye doctor and fork out $200 for contacts.
4:48 My brother looks at me, and I tell him I am still not sure that I won’t die. Damn it. Rush hour.