Yesterday, our apartment building was on the course of the Hartford Marathon. Runners who had trained for months and months jogged, ran, and speedwalked past our home. I have on multiple occasions remarked that I would rather have a root canal than run 26.2 miles. And in fact...
Things went from bad to worse yesterday morning as I reclined in the dentist's chair. While Aiesha, the dental assistant, hummed along to Billy Joel's Only the Good Dye Young, which played soothingly in the background, my dentist's descriptions of her exploration of my buccal cavity became ever dourer.
As my dentist, whose white lab coat simply read "Dr. B", poked and prodded my cracked molar, the prescribed course of treatment progressed from simple filling to crown to (I shudder to recall it) two of the most dreaded words in the dental lexicon: root canal. In total, I spent three hours under the bright lights, shiny instruments, and careful hands of my dentist and her assistant.
Apparently, my dental infrastructure is remarkably resistant to the numbing effects of novocaine. My lips, tongue, and cheek went completely numb and tingly after the first injection, but it took 4 shots to prevent surging jolts of pain as the dentist drilled and scraped the exposed pulp of my tooth. Meanwhile, the two dental experts openly marveled at the volume of saliva I produced.
"It's like a river of saliva," Aiesha, the dental assistant remarked.
"No, no," my dentist, Dr. B, corrected her. "It's more like a spring."
"Yeah, a spring of saliva," Aiesha agreed. Then she looked down at me and added, reassuringly, "That's not necessarily a bad thing."
My previous dentist was awed by the size of my tongue, this one by the volume gushing forth from my salivary glands. My oral anatomical wonders never cease.
Just found this article about diversionary video goggles that allow the patient to watch distracting tv shows or movies during dental procedures... I'm looking forward to the day when I can liveblog a root canal.