I am fearless - except for when I need to see the dentist

Hey Steemains

I have really struggled with dentists in the past. No, that is an understatement, I have an issue with everything the current medical industry represents (though some surgeons are quite necessary) in terms of big pharma and how they exploit people and profit off illness. That's an entirely different post though.

I digress, when I was about 11 years old I sustained an injury doing the usual boy things and managed to knock one of my front teeth in half. Quite painful to say the least, but such is life sometimes. I got the tooth capped and I hated every second of it. Let's just say that ever since my first experience at the dentist, I've placed them (along with lawyers, politicians and telemarketers) on an island in my mind, aimed some pretty expensive ordinances in that general direction and pressed a big red button that said 'NUKE' on it.

So every once in a while I'd fall out of a tree of off my skateboard growing up, or take a hit on a rugby field and, yup, back it was to the dentist for a fix, kicking and screaming.

So a few weeks ago the cap got knocked off again (I've lost count at this stage in how many times it has happened) and I really wasn't keen on going back to the sadist, I mean dentist. I've been through dentists like cell phones, but with a cell phone you still miss the contacts/content you've had on it once it has been lost. Nuff said.

By Monday last week I've seriously contemplated never talking to another person again, never smiling again, becoming a Tibetan monk sworn to silence forever, rather meditating the pain away in a robe on a mountain somewhere - basically anything other than:

A) Showing anyone I have a cracked tooth and,
B) Having to see a dentist ever again

By Wednesday night I've had nightmares of power tools and chisels being driven into my teeth by crazed sickos dancing around me in white uniforms in a looney bin, whilst being strapped into an electric chair.

So by Friday the morning appointment eventually rolls around - at this stage I am sleep deprived (but properly), I am twitching like a corpse and the big vein in my head is about to go: "POP". I was referred to the new doc by my mom. I think she is the only person in the world who has the guts to recommend a dentist to me as all the previous ones have 'gone to the island'.

Anyway, I must have rolled into that office like a hurricane, a total mess, an emotional blood-shot blur, trembling and silently cursing and full of hate and fear.

I sized the newest in a long line of failed professionals up in my remorseless gaze as I moped into the doctor's (torture) chambers, overhearing her chat to her assistant about a cycle race she's looking forward to. Both of them were intelligent beings, good looking and efficient - they were not getting anything from me, I've seen James Bond.

"So at least the sadist punishes herself for her crimes against humanity," I smeared, referring to the gruelling bike race she was going to endure. They laughed. I wasn't being funny.

The assistant quipped "You should have kept your mouth shut and just got on with it, now you're in trouble",

Yeah right, keep my mouth shut. Maybe not so intelligent after all.

The doc, it turns out, was very cool. We laughed a lot, and the assistant was a scream. Typically, when I had a vice grip shoved in my mouth I was asked a relevant question - the doc realising I couldn't answer at the time and we all started giggling our heads off.

It will never be easy having people in white coats sticking tools in my face and invade my mouth, probing and prodding around and grinding and sticking things in there I can't pronounce, stabbing me with needles (my fear of those and spiders will have their own volumes in my encyclopaedic range entitled: More things that need islands of their own Vol 2), but damn, I was astonished when I eventually closed my mouth.

For first time since forever when I closed my beak, the prosthetic reconstruction on the tooth fit my jawline perfectly. I was amazed at that. No uncomfortable biting angles, no more migraines to follow and the like. I am still stunned by that.

I was told I have excessive wear on my teeth due to grinding (thank you, crypto) and may have to get a form of gum-guard to help prevent that in future.

Speaking of which, she gelled some fluoride paste into a gum-guard for me to bite into before I left to seal the deal (I still think it was part of some weird illuminati ritual). Whilst being muzzled by this thing, the doc was doing this rehearsed speech about her recommended brushing and flossing techniques - reminding me of an air hostess doing the whole safety briefing/emergency exit procedure before flight.

There were tears streaming down my face, but for the first time in my life at a dentist's office, those were tears of utter laughter.

That purposefully dorky look on her face was the end of me, crisis it was hysterical.

I laughed. I don't think she will ever quite know how much that means.

I gave her a fist-bump on my way out, she can totally stay.

Rgds,
T