Yearly dental appointment. Seriously, worse day of the year for me.
And the dental hygienist I had today must have been new to the profession.
Or just pissed off.
‘Cause it felt like she was using the picky thing that scrapes off the tartar as a jackhammer. At one point, she was pretty much kneeling on the seat and had both of her hands jammed into my mouth, plowing at my teeth. There was plaque flying all over the mother fucken place.
But I don’t like to complain. Much.
So I lay there rigidly, my hands clasped on my chest. It was so evident I was uncomfortable.
And she wasn’t spraying my mouth with water or using the suctioning device. I had drool pooling in the back of my throat and rolling down my chin. I was thinking, “Bitch, clean me up!” But I didn’t move because I was frightened that she’d slip and take an eye out.
I desperately wanted to take my shoes off and curl my legs up under me while she chiseled away at my mouth. But I was wearing my Sketchers without socks so I was afraid my feet would stink. I didn’t think that foot odor would add any great comfort to the situation.
Finally she put that nauseating foamie fluoride shit in my mouth. The whole time she was counting to 60, I was eyeing the door, wondering if I could make a run for it. I knew there was an even scarier ordeal to contend with next.
I was getting some very minor surgery done on my bottom gum.The little flap of skin that attaches the inside of the bottom lip to the bottom gum is very short. As a result of this, when I talk or eat, it pulls my gums down and they are receding. I had the same dentist for 11 years. And for 11 years she would tell me I wasn’t flossing enough, I was flossing too much, I was brushing too hard, I wasn’t brushing enough. “Your gums keep receding, you need to smarten up.”
Then I moved to a place that had real dentists who had real training, and the first thing she said to me upon my first visit was, “That little flappy skin thing on your bottom gum is too short so it’s pulling your gums down.”…alright, clearly she didn’t say little flappy skin thing. Whatever. But it needed to be snipped, and then ta-da! No more gum receding.
After 3 years of putting it off (because the dentist told me my chin might be slightly bruised the next day, and well… come on people, she said my chin might be slightly bruised the next day, there should be no further explanation required) I finally booked the appointment and committed to getting the surgery done.
Turns out the worst part was getting the bottom part of my mouth frozen. I was talking like that guy from Fat Albert. I was like, “How do I look? Is my chin in my lap?” And she was like, “You look the same, you look fine.”
Just fine? That’s it? But I’m having a terrific hair day?
But well, I didn’t persist on that line of questioning because I also felt like I might be drooling so I kept patting my mouth with tissue.
Of course when the freezing wore off, I felt like shit. I went out to Boston Pizza with my friend and our kids, and I could barely eat because I could barely open my mouth. I ordered yam fries and had to kind of poke them one by one into this small opening in my mouth, and when I’d miss my mark, I’d get the spicy mayo all over my face.
Moments before sitting down to write this post, I gargled with lukewarm water and salt. Ummm. Salt? I had to be peeled off the ceiling afterwards.
I’ll feel better tomorrow. But for today, I feel entitled to moan and groan, and write this titillating post about it. You know, just in case anybody out there would like to send me flowers. Or chocolate. To cheer me up. You know, kind of like a “Get Well” present. Only make sure the chocolates are tiny so I can just pop them into the small opening of my mouth, but not so small that they’d be considered a choking hazard. That would suck.
Thank you for your kindness and consideration in this matter.