I hate to be constantly confessing on my blog, but our church doesn’t have a confessional and even if it did, FringeMan would be hearing my woes twice over. So you get to hear my junk.
Consider yourselves special.
Hat Chick asked me if I whitened my teeth. I’ll tell you that my choppers could stand some whitening. I brought home a full gallon of white paint and I’ve been brushing everything this week except for my teeth. I attempted those Crest White Strips last winter; however, my teeth are sensitive and after two days I was popping Tylenol to counteract the pain caused by those funny little strips.
Not only did those strips cause pain, but they also made me talk with such a lisp and slur that I sounded intoxicated for the full twenty minutes they were bleaching my teeth. About two minutes after application, my phone would ring. This happened everyday without fail. Before my mother-in-law signed me up for AA, I made peace with my stained teeth.
No whitening for me.
Thursday afternoon I went to the dentist for the first time in (here comes the confession) TWELVE years. I heard your gasps!
I’m sorry, but I never meant for that to happen. I bring my children to the dentist, but have personally opted out of drills, pain, and dental bills.
I’ve had a cavity since I was pregnant with FringeKid and every once in a while (after I eat a bag of M&M’s) it bothers me. I finally mustered up the courage to go get my teeth cleaned, x-rayed, and my cavities filled. I hung my head in shame when my dentist asked how long it had been since I’ve seen a dentist. Let’s just say my x-rays were not computerized last time. In fact, my previous dentist still used a hammer and chisel.
Her head swiveled faster than her stool when I said *12* years. I also self-diagnosed two cavities, but she talked me out of one. After perusing my mouth with a pick, she commended me for my meticulous brushing and lack of plaque. She even admitted that I didn’t really need to come every six months since my choppers were in such good shape , and she offered to fill my cavity on the spot. Secretly I think she didn’t trust me to come back and have it filled.
For the record, this was my first-ever cavity.
(Image courtesy of http://www.thehumorousimage.com/)
All was going splendidly until she asked me if I wanted novocaine before she began drilling. Why do doctors ask me this question? Do I look like I take pain well? I don’t. I’m a whiner and complainer. That should be highlighted in my medical records.
Unfortunately she’s not the first to ask that type of question. I once endured stitches without any numbing medication. I really need someone to attend doctor’s visits with me and stand up for my right to be medicated.
Halfway through drilling, she asked if I was still ok or if I wanted a shot. Since she was ticked off at an emergency that had just walked though the door at quarter till five, and since she had my son waiting in the next chair to have his teeth worked on, and since she was nine months pregnant and extremely hormonal, and since I had a water drip and vacuum in my mouth, I just nodded to ensure I was ok.
I’m now broke and have one amalgam filling that I’m sure will cause me mercury poisoning and early onset Alzheimer’s. I’ll have a great set of teeth and no marbles. That’s just the way my life works.