Dr. Kermit and the Root Canal

So apparently I've been grinding my teeth while I sleep.  Which I didn’t realize I did, until it earned me a cracked tooth.

But not just any run of the mill cracked tooth.  No, mine is severe.  The cracks in my tooth resemble a Southern California fault map, at least according to my dentist.  When she showed me the x-ray, I had no choice but to agree.  And that of course, immediately set off an alarm in my head, because I thought there can be no easy fix for this.

Turns out, alarm in head = justified.

My dentist gave me the horrible news: root canal.  At the sound of those two words, my stomach did a flip-flop and I got real teary.  And then my dentist reacted to me reacting, and she got a bit teary.  And then in hopes of making me feel better, she revealed that she hates going to the gynecologist for 'that exam down there’.

*Sigh* that’s SO not the same.

Let me give you some history on my teeth.  When I was about six, I had a bastard of a dentist give me a shot of Novocain prior to a filling.  But the amount of Novocain he gave me wasn’t enough, and I could feel him drilling and thus, LIKE ANY NORMAL HUMAN, I tried to pull away from him.  This made him mad.  And instead of asking me if I was feeling pain, he decided to slap me hard, right across the face.  Then he decided to ask me if I was wiggling because I was feeling pain.  Then he proceeded to give me enough Novocain to numb-up an elephant. 

Hence, my tremendous fear of dentistry was born and it continued to grow and flourish after a couple of other bad dentistry experiences. 

Suffice to say, these combined dental experiences resulted in my almost obsessive care of my teeth.  Since I was teen, it has been my daily practice to brush my teeth four/five times, floss, and go to bed after swishing around a healthy shot of Listerine. This regimen has kept my teeth sparkly clean, my cavities to a bare minimum, and resulted in the unintended effect of providing mini-on-the-spot-orgasms to every dentist and hygienist who peers into my mouth for the first time.

So you see, it’s a major pisser that I cracked my tooth.

Knowing my complete fear of dentistry, my dentist recommended an endodontist to perform the root canal.  His first name was Kermit.  This was unfortunate, as I had misgivings about letting a guy named after a green frog with a questionable relationship with a pig, work on my teeth.  Then she told me Dr. Kermit can give me nitrous oxide to ease my discomfort. Hmmmm…this little tidbit made the situation seem more tolerable.

So off to Dr. Kermit I went.  My husband, who knows my freakish fear of the dentist, gallantly accompanied me. What follows is a recount of what happened at my appointment.  Please note, I can take no responsibility….

As we walked into the lobby of his small building, the first thing that hit me was the awful dentist office smell (I think it's a combination of medicine, cleaning fluid, and fear).  This made me queasy, so I turned to walk right back outside, but my hubby, who knows me well, is ready for this reaction and grabs me by the shoulders to redirect me back to Kermie’s door.

Kermie’s receptionist had me fill out one of the typical forms you get at a physician’s office: name, address, insurance, medical conditions, blah, blah, blah…..except this form had something I have never seen before.  On the bottom of the back page is a series of cartoon faces with different captions meant to represent the cartoon guy’s mood.  Kermie’s office wants me to indicate my mood by circling the cartoon face most accurately portraying what I’m feeling…..

So naturally I circled FRIGHTENED and ANXIOUS.  But that didn’t seem quite right.

So, I decided to add a new one….

After filling out the form, the nurse took me back to the patient room, which is quite spacious and ironically, had a glass paned door that leads to the outside.  I filed this information in the back of my mind for potential use later.  Then the nurse grabbed a dental bib and asked me to sit. 

France (F): Uh, I have to pee.  Do you have a bathroom here so I can go pee before we start?  Because I don't want to have to stop during the procedure to pee.

Nurse (N): Sure, it’s down the hallway leading to the waiting room on the right.

F: ‘K, thanks, I'll be right back.  After I pee.

(I don't know why, but I felt the word pee was the only thing I had in my arsenal to use against this nurse).

So off to the bathroom I went, not to pee, but to hideout.  I was in there for probably three minutes (which actually wasn’t that unpleasant, since Kermie’s bathroom was spacious, clean, serenely decorated, and smelled vaguely of Febreeze.)  When I heard footsteps walking up to the bathroom door and pause, I turned on the water. I waited another minute and decided to give up my futile attempt and go back to my assigned room.  Only the nurse was not there, which was completely unexpected.  So I decided to take that opportunity and to sneak out to the patient waiting room, which was empty (my hubby ran back home to get something).  To the right of the door in the waiting room, against a short back wall, was an oak bookshelf.  Between the bookshelf and the door, was a wall that jutted out about two feet and created a nook. And this is where I decided to tuck myself into.  About a minute later, I heard this:

N: (talking behind the waiting room door to the receptionist) Did you see where she went?  Where did my patient go?

The nurse opens the waiting room door and pokes her head out. She couldn't see me hiding in the nook.

N: France?

I don’t reply.

N: France?

I still don’t reply (by the way, this not replying thing is a great technique I learned from my hubby after being married a few years). Then the nurse walked out into the waiting room, turned, and saw me standing in the nook.

N: France?  What are you doing? 

No reply, instead I look down at my feet.

N: Come on, we are ready for you.  It’s time to go back.

Damn.

She followed me to the waiting room and firmly ensconced me in the chair, then she surprised me by walking over to the glass door in the room that led outside and ensured it was locked.  Dang....she’s on to me.

Kermie came in, all masked up and ready to start.

K: You wanted the gas, right?

F: Yes.

K: Okay, I’m going to swab the side of your mouth, start the gas, and then give you a couple of shots, which will be the worst part (That? I so know THAT is a to-tal f*ckin lie).

F: Umm.  Do you mind if I put in my headphones?  I can leave off one ear if you need to talk to me, but I plan on turning up the music really loud.

K: No problem, you can put them both in. Ready? Here we go.

He turned on the gas and I proceeded to inhale with deep slow breaths.  Meanwhile, I’ve cranked the volume on my MP3 to thirty and Eminem is now screaming in my ears, beckoning the real Shady to please stand up. After a few hits of gas, I’m starting to realize, HEY I’m the real Slim Shady…. I need to stand up….I need to PUHL-EASE stand up, as I’m SO down with standing up....which I was, until Kermie unexpectedly pierced my bravado with a muffled question.

K:  How are you feeling?

I giggled. That’s the funniest thing Kermie said to me the entire time and I give him a tentative thumbs-up.

First Novocain shot: tolerable.  Second shot: also tolerable, but I think only because they turned up the gas.

And after such a promising start, things immediately started to go downhill.  Because I’m pretty sure after they thought I was good and buzzed, they pried my mouth open with a couple of crowbars.  Then the drilling started.  Then the nurse with the evil suction tube tried to use it to steal my tongue.  Then Kermie began prospecting for gold in mouth.  And that’s when I started wiggling and moaning and kicking up my legs.

K: Are you in pain?

F: Ghaaa?

I pulled out my earplug.

K: Are you in pain?

F: Aaaah eeenn eennaaal aaaaanne

I didn’t think he understood, so I pointed to my forehead.

K: You have a headache?

NOOO asshole, I don’t have a headache.  You asked me if I was in pain and I pointed to my head to indicate I’M IN MENTAL PAIN.

See regrettably, sometime around when Kermie started poking around in my tooth, my right side brain decided to take over and it refused to let my left side brain enjoy the nitrous oxide haze.  It commandeered my thoughts and began conjuring up all sorts of images of what exactly, was taking place in my mouth.  And it was not pleasant. 

About 10 minutes later, Kermie finished up, much to my relief.  The gas was turned down and whatever buzz I had slowly ebbed out of my system.  I was left sitting in the chair feeling a bit, well, orally soiled.

The nurse walked back and said Kermie needed to talk to me.  Taking wobbly baby steps to the receptionist area, I found Kermie, my hubby, and three prescriptions waiting for me.  Then Kermie dropped the bomb.

 K: You have to come back, can you come on Friday?

F: Whaaaf? (I’m still numb from the Novocain)

K: Unfortunately, it didn’t go as well as I had hoped.  Here’s a prescription for an antibiotic, Vicodin, and a 10mg dose of Valium.   I want you to take the Valium 45 minutes prior to your appointment.  I think it will help you.

Huh?  It’s not done? I have to come BACK?

My hub rubbed my back.  To be honest, we're both a bit surprised I was given a prescription for the highest of dose of Valium available, nary a request.   Kermie must think I am a bad case. Or a head case.

Later that evening, my hubby asked what happened during the procedure, so I explained the entire sordid tale.  After shaking his head at my pitiful attempts at root canal avoidance, he rendered his opinion:

H: You couldn’t relax because you had the wrong music playing.

F:  What do you mean?

H: Who listens to Eminem during a root canal?  You needed something soothing.

F: Soothing?

H:  Yeah soothing. Something that would have helped you relax. Something like, say, Enya.

F: ENYA?  

WTF?

Maybe this man doesn’t know me as well as I thought.  Because Enya? Yeah, doesn't he know? I’d rather have a root canal before I’d freakin' listen to Enya!!