I have to go to the dentist's office tomorrow (Oh, my...look at the time. TODAY actually!) and I'm dreading it. Frankly, I dread these appointments twice a year...my insurance company MAKES me go twice a year to keep my excellent coverage...go figure...because if I had it MY way, my dentist would see me about as often as the Seattle Supersonics make it to the playoffs. That would be maybe 3-4 times in a lifetime?
I actually really LIKE my dentist...she's kind...she's gentle...she's funny...BUT, she's still a DENTIST! And she carries a big drill.
I think I have PTSD from my childhood dentist (That would be Previous Trauma of Sheety Dentist...PTSD) and this continues to plague me now, even in my forties. My childhood dentist was a crotchety, old geezer who should have retired long before I was born...or at least sometime shortly after his HANDS started to shake violently! He had hairy arms, bad breath himself, and a tremor that would register on the Richter Scale. More than once, he dropped hot filling on my tongue and only once did I bite him when this happened. After the first "chomp" on my part, I was fitted with an ultra-security, stainless steel, ratcheting mouth brace that kept me from coming within a foot of clenching my teeth together. Ah...those were the days!
Now, my dentist's office is an all FEMALE establishment (because women don't usually reek of Old Spice and have hairy knuckles). There are TV screens in the ceiling, warm blankets to soothe me, high tech computer equipment surrounding me, head phones for music if I choose, and the lovely scent of Nitrous lofting in the air. And still I worry.
Tomorrow (or today, depending on how I look at it), my lovely dentist will jokingly chide me for missing my appointment this Spring when I was in MS relapse. She'll no doubt have questions about the TYSABRI I am taking and most likely recommend I have that crown done that she's been eyeing for the past 5 years...the one I just can't consent to for treatment because I don't believe in fixing what isn't broken. I guess to a dentist's logic, that doesn't make much sense as it is easier to fix BEFORE it gets broken!
I will leave my dentist's office with my baggy of goodies, which includes free "everything" the toothpaste and dental hygiene companies dole out...I'm sure I will once again wonder what my pre-appointment anxieties were about...and I'll have a fresh set of spit-cleaned choppers to show for my visit. And, just hours later, I will muck up her fine work by eating the usual crap I call food...the stuff that keeps dentists in business...