I think I have sunburn on my tongue.
Posted by Lissa on April 9, 2009
A post to put your teeth on edge. Literally.
If you have any fear of the dentist whatsoever, THIS POST IS NOT FOR YOU. (Likewise, if you don’t want to hear me whine like Rajah when he wants to bite me, then you probably need to go elsewhere.)
I spent almost four hours at the dentist yesterday. FOUR. On the upside, I am no longer afraid of the pain that will accompany childbirth.
Did you know what the tool of the devil is? You’d think it was a scraper, but you’d be wrong. It’s a hideous, ungodly melding of evil, an unholy alliance in the name of dentist tools.
The progenitors of this evil contraption:
Tool of Satan + Other Tool of Satan = PLEASE GOD KILL ME NOW. (A.k.a., a scraper that also shoots water.)
Now, I am the first to admit that I deserve some pain at the dentist, for I have the unmitigated temerity to be a NON-FLOSSER. I floss when I get something stuck in my teeth and that’s it. I *know* that’s bad. I am prepared for agonizing pain at the dentist because I know I deserve it.
Do you KNOW what that fiendish tool does? DO YOU????
It doesn’t just scrape your teeth, oh no. It emits a high-pitched keening noise RIGHT INTO YOUR EAR and it VIBRATES and when it hits your teeth you feel GRINDING and THEN IT SHOOTS WATER DIRECTLY INTO YOUR NERVE SOCKETS, INDUCING UNQUENCHABLE ANGUISH AND MISERY.
I’m not particularly brave, but I’ve got what I consider a decent threshold for pain. I’ve been through numerous sprained ankles, some lovely dry socket from my wisdom teeth, a rather large tattoo, etc. etc., without much difficulty. It’s nothing like SEAL school, or SERE school, or a serious car wreck or anything — I’m not THAT stupid — but I’m not exactly a whiny little girl.
They shot that Manifestation Of All That Is Evil into my gums and I jerked like a fish on a line. I was physically spasming in my chair with tears running out of the corners of my eyes. I’ve been the recipient of accidental electric shocks (stupid frayed lamp-cord) that were easier to deal with.
Apparently I *am* a whiny little girl when it comes to the dentist. *sniffle*
Oh, and I’m also an idiot to boot. In the interests of saving time and not using any more vacation than absolutely necessary, I decided that while I was at the dentist I should get my teeth professionally whitened.
I’ve already informed Mike that he’s not allowed to divorce me because I’m never doing that ever again. After they shoved plastic into my mouth to hold my lips off my teeth, and covered my gums with gel, and treated the gel to harden it, and applied bleaching agent to my teeth, and swabbed sunscreen on my lips, they shoved a UV-light directly at my mouth and left me to cook. The first two fifteen-minute sessions were bearable, despite my sensitive gums. Towards the end of the third session I became utterly, irrevocably convinced that the UV-light was home to an unusual species of tiny alien, who selected among themselves the strongest and bravest to essay forth and jab their heat-tipped spears into my tooth sockets.
I’m pleased that my teeth will be whiter for the wedding photos.
I’ve also got sunburn/bleach burn on my lower lip. And a scrip for Tylenol 3 at night.
P.S. Thank you to Dr. Borepatch for his scrip for wine. Unfortunately, I’m prohibited from masticating any strongly-colored foods or liquids for the first 24 hours. Like red wine. Or Diet Coke. Or ketchup. I dined on plain chicken breast and bread last night. I’ve been eating white-colored yogurt and string cheese today. I’d absolutely kill for some Cheetos. Only chewing them would hurt too much.
P.P.S. I will admit that the new system of X-raying teeth — taking photographs that instantly pop up on the computer, rather than developing actual X-ray film — is WAY COOL.
P.P.P.S. The doctor asked me to show me his teeth. I bared all my teeth in a self-conscious grin and he just STARED at them for perhaps thirty seconds. I haven’t felt that awkward since I snapped at a guy for calling me “Shorty” and my roomie explained it was a term of flirtatious affection. *oy*
P.P.P.P.S. After all the x-ray-photos they grabbed my cheeks with plastic spreader-things and took a zoomed-in full-color picture of my teeth clenched in a bite. Then they left it on the screen for about five minutes while they discussed my dental situation. I had nightmares about sharks last night.
P.P.P.P.P.S. At what point do post-post-post-post-post-scripts get utterly ridiculous?
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I don’t know, but I’m quite, quite sure I’ve passed it.