My semiannual trip to the dentist, this morning. I am a spoiled one, when it comes to dentists. I didn’t have any cavities until I approached middle school, when my molars started to show some wear and tear. I didn’t take it well. It was an evening appointment, and from there, we went somewhere that I got hot tea. They studded the lemon with cloves, which was delicious, but the cloves reminded me of cavities and I melted down into hysterics.
Not long after that, I got braces, so I had to get pretty comfortable with dentists and tooth pain. I learned to relax, and I’m a bit of a Pollyanna, so regular dentist attention meant that my tooth hygiene was pretty impeccable.
After the braces came off, I had to have my wisdom teeth out. I tried to be brave, but my wisdom teeth were stubborn and had to be removed in pieces. It was pretty unpleasant, but I got really sick that first night and ended up with dry sockets. Talk about unpleasant.
I avoided dentists for awhile after college, and when I finally went, I had several cavities that needed attending to. I lucked out, and that was the worst of it. We had to address my mouth in quadrants, which was unfortunate, but I survived. I became manic about flossing, and that’s kept the dental drama to a minimum, since then.
A few years after that, I had a tooth break, necessitating a dental implant. Overall, that went well (the extraction of what remained of my tooth was no picnic, and it’s a lengthy and very expensive process), but it’s been trouble-free, as promised.
I’m entering the crown stage in my life. My first one was not my favorite thing of all time, and they see more in my future, but we can wait.
I have what sounds like the beginnings of a tiny cavity. I cannot express my disappointment over this— the dentist blamed it on the person who did my crown and said it looks like they nicked the other tooth, really made it sound like nothing— but I really was wanting my commitment to dental hygiene to be basically the end of all this. I like to be patted on the head and told that they’ll see me in six months. I take cavities very personally, as a failure of effort on my part.
One day, I may get less ridiculous. I anxiously await that day.