Rehab

Note to self (and any others who happen to read this and find themselves able to relate to self in that they have recently undergone root canal procedures): new S'mores ice cream treats from Burger King, while delicious, are not pleasant while you are undergoing dental rehab.

Molarity

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.

Open wide

I found myself this morning in an unsettling position: in the dentist’s chair for routine dental work (or at least would-be routine if I visited the dentist with any regularity): a general cleaning and a filling replacement.

Mouth agape, gums numb, I lay there vulnerable, staring up into the eyes of my dentist and his assistant. Alternating between drill and pick, the dentist dug in, maintaining a basal level of small talk with his assistant (I wonder if they have the same rehearsed conversation over every patient) while tinkering with my pearly (or, more accurately, coffee-stained) whites.

Midway through the filling, I detected a hint of frustration from my dentist. To his assistant, as if I were so overpowered by the local injection of novocaine that I was oblivious to his words, he said, “He has a large tongue.”

I had never before heard the size of my tongue (or anyone’s other than Chaim Witz's) so described.

“You have a large tongue,” he repeated, this time to me.

“Mmmm,” I replied, unable to articulate much more than that.

To his assistant: “Please hold his tongue back.”

Fiddle, scrape, drill.

Under his breath: “Man, that tongue is big.”

Fiddle, scrape, drill.

Again, to his assistant, “I said, please hold his tongue back. It’s flopped over onto his tooth.”

I tired to help by keeping my tongue to the left of my mouth, but it was difficult to maintain any control over my numbed oral organ, perhaps due to its sheer magnitude.

I’ve always known I had a big mouth; now I’ve got the tongue to fill it.

ouch

I think I need to see a dentist.

I'm experiencing extreme bagel chip sensitivity.


Originally Posted: Tuesday, April 5, 2007
(Then) Curent Mood: pained
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