I took a sadomasochistic trip somewhere over the rainbow yesterday, and boy are my lips tired!
I have not totally lost my mind, I did not see some Bahamian rendition of "Hair" and I am not on acid, although at the moment I might not mind a hit.
My day wasn't nearly as delightful as any of that. Maybe just as peculiar.
Apparently some evil filling had fallen out of my tooth some time ago and the only thing that had prevented this from becoming an agonizing pain months ago was the fact that I have become obsessive about my teeth ever since the root canal that caused the initial problem. But it was a while before I forced myself to be a grown-up and admit that if I didn't take care of it the pain would come and it wouldn't be pretty.
Let me stop right here and say I am not a good dental patient. I'm a straight up pussy, who will cry, fight, kick, scream, squirm into odd and unusual positions (and I've practiced yoga since I was 4, I'm pretty bendy) and just make things virtually impossible the entire time I'm conscious. Knowing this, I do warn every dentist that before any pokey or drilling objects come near my head, it's best to just knock me the fuck out. I don't mind.
They always ask, "But you have tattoos? You can take those needles just drilling at your skin?"
How can they have absolutely no idea how miniscule that little mosquito bite is compared to the horrific, ghastly, mind bending trauma that dental work inflicts on the human condition?
Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. Could be the pharmaceutical and self medication. I'm in a bad place.
Oh, well Sam knows that I am not dental-friendly so she called the dentist that she's familiar with, repeatedly telling me that they were very good and really gentle.
In my head I'm picturing Seinfeld doing a bit on how there are no bad doctors because everyone thinks their doctor is the best. Where are the doctors that graduated 30th or something in their class? Who says, "You gotta go to my doctor, he’s the worst?"
The appointment was made and later in the afternoon we were on our way to Rainbow Dental. Hell, I figure 'Rainbow' that’s gotta be a good sign. The dentist is an old friend of Sam's and a fellow Howard U. alum, more good signs. There was no one else in the waiting room so I didn't have to sit there thinking about the impending torture while listening to drills and suctions (and pondering if I could snatch the keys and get out the door before they caught me). And as it turns out the Rainbow theme was geared more towards the child-friendly environment, which was still pretty cool because they were used to dealing with….I can say it, BABIES, or difficult patients and there were Dr. Seuss books and neat retro cartoons on the walls to stare at. Ok, enough good signs that I gave up on making a break for it. Narrowly.
Well like I said, I tried to catch the problem soon but being the self-entitled pussy that I am I caught it soon, but not quite soon enough. Not soon enough that I didn’t need another FUCKING root canal. FUCK ME! But you know what, if it has to be done, it has to be done. She started to say she could fix the first filling now and schedule the root-
"Can we just do it all now?" I knew that if I left…. well, you know what I'm saying.
A few shots with the big needle in the gum, a few odd contraptions dangling and pulling at my raw lips, and a few excruciating, asshole clenching hours of dental work later, the entire left side of my head is a numb yet pulsating mass of drooling flesh, and I am so very unhappy. The unbearably high frequency of the drill, constant poking, prodding, and just general fucking around with my head under fluorescent lights gave me a kicky li’l migraine to boot.So very unhappy am I.
Sam on the other hand is just happy as a clam.
Sam gets to tend to me and play nurse maid and make sure that every time I make the slightest grunt or groan she is right there underfoot with pills, juice, tea, ice packs, blankets, footstools and goo-gobs of concern. Did I mention she’s on vacation and has nothing but time on her hands. I’m trying my hardest not to kill her, but I’m not making any promises.
So now I lay me back down with the positively pathetic 800mg of ibuprofen that make absolutely no difference in the intense pain in my raging teeth and head, and I’ll try to pretend that Sam is really Halle Berry in a French maid’s uniform bustling about anxiously wanting to serve my every need, that will probably keep me from plotting her death. Probably.
That damn Oral Deviant wants me to come back for more. Crowns. Maybe she just likes a challenge, and on occasion so do I, but if I want a goddamn crown I’ll go fuck royalty! Much less painful (even though they often need some harsh dental work too).
'To sleep, per chance to dream.'
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