Him: First I'll put some freezing gel on the area. It will be fine.
Him: Open wide, please.
Him: Jane? Wider?
Meanwhile he's swabbing the inside of my mouth with the foulest tasting gel ever concocted. As it drips down the back of my throat I start gagging. The back of my tongue goes numb and so has my throat and everything feels like it's swelling and so my heart starts racing like I'm having a panic attack.
Him: Jane? Your tongue. You need to relax it.
Him: Jane? Keep your mouth open please.
He picks up the needle and sticks the pointy end into my lower gumline.
Him: Sorry. This is going to pinch. Sorry. Sorry.
Me, to myself: Dear God. Help me through this. I don't want to die today. But my throat is closing...
Him: Jane? PLEASE. Your tongue. Move it.
Me, to myself: I can't feel my tongue. It's frozen and fat. Too thick for my mouth. I'm going to die.
Him: Are you OK? Just a few more spots ... sorry. This will hurt.
Meanwhile drops of bitter, vile freezing was dripping from his syringe into my mouth and causing my saliva to gush forth like a fountain. I thought I was going to drown. So. Much Spit. I kept trying to swallow it, but more and more was being produced, and I could barely swallow because my tongue and throat were all numb. Every attempt at swallowing caused my tongue to spasm.
Him: Jane? Could you Just. Rest. Your.Tongue?
Seconds before I died, he stopped.
And walked away, advising his assistant that I had an extremely small mouth with tight cheeks and a wayward tongue.
Him: I'll be back in a few minutes. Let's give that freezing a chance to work, OK?
Me: Uh huh.
I pulled myself up to the sitting position and worked on getting my breathing under control. No Way was I going to survive this procedure.
Her: You OK?
Me: As you can tell from the amount of fillings and caps I have, I have spent alot of time in the dentist chair. I used to fall asleep while I was being worked on. I was just that chill. But lately, I've been having trouble breathing when I get worked on, Especially when they put that dam in. My throat just feels like it's closing up. And then. Well. There's that tongue of mine. It has a life of its own. It must get discussed every time I get work done. I'm sorry, you're going to have to deal with it too.
Her: Oh, I'm at expert at tongues. I know how to keep it out of the way. We had another patient in today who had a crazy tongue.
Me, to myself: Crazy tongue. Nice.
About ten minutes later, the dentist was back and his assault on my mouth began.
So. Much. Pressure.
So. Much. Poking. Prodding. Pushing. Picking. Piercing. Pulling.
Him: Jane? You're going to hear some sounds now. Don't be alarmed.
And then he used some pliers that were 17 sizes too big for my mouth.
Him: Jane? I need you to open your mouth wider.
Him: Lower your chin.
Him: Jane? I need your mouth to be open wider.
Him: OPEN WIDER.
My mouth was stretched to the point of splitting.
My temples were pounding.
My neck muscles (as such) were throbbing with tension.
No way I was going to live to see another day.
I was going to meet my maker on Thursday, Oct 30 at 4 pm.
I was ready.
Him: Jane? Wider, please? And there.... there..... (grunting) there. First root out.
He held it up in victory.
Him: K. Let's get going on the other one. And Jane? You really do need to keep your mouth open wider.
Seventeen hours later, the second root came out.
He and his assistant both leaned in to take a look at the new hole in my mouth.
Then they whispered to each other.
Him: OK. Now. There's an infection in there. I'm going to have to deal with it. The bones have to be clean for healing to occur. Open wide. And let me know if you feel any pain. Let me know immediately.
And then the scraping began.
It was the battle of hell was taking place in my mouth.
There was pain.
And I jumped out of my skin twice.
Him: Jane? I need to do my job. And that job is cleaning this bone. I can't do this unless you open your mouth wider. You need to do your part.
I was so tired of this entire event.
When the bone was clean enough to send me on my way, I pointed my truck towards home. It was pouring rain, I was out of gas, I hit 79 red lights, and I turned the wrong way twice. And then it took over an hour to get my prescription (for painkillers and a mouth rinse filled).
By the time I got home, I was done.
I took a T3 and went to bed. Two hours later the freezing had worn off and the T3's effectiveness was nowhere to be found. My face was throbbing, my jaw was killing me, and I wanted my tooth back.
I texted Max. And told him I'd only gotten a few T3's, based on his example earlier this summer.
I couldn't believe the amount of pain he must've had a few months ago when he had his two bottom wisdom teeth pulled. (He only requested 6 of the 24 T3's available to him. So I did the same. I told the pharmacist to just give me 6.)
I had been invited to go out for dinner and a movie this evening with friends. I cancelled at the last minute. BUT when I was 'taking care' of Max that day in August, I TOOK HIM TO A MOVIE that evening. I canna believe it:
Oh my goodness.
I started counting the minutes til I could drug up again.
At 10 pm, I was swallowing tablets like a fiend. T3's and Advil.
And 11 minutes later?
So very amazing.
My next dose is at 2 am.
Which is in 40 minutes.
My wimpy-ness is a disappointment to me.
And I'm so, so very thankful that I live in this century. Where there are ways to freeze a mouth, and ways to clean bones hidden under tooth-roots. Where there are effective pain meds. Where I can spend an evening doing nothing because that's all I have the energy for. Where I have friends who text me to see how I'm doing.
Best. Century. Ever.
Three things I'm thankful for:
1. This quiet house.
2. This comfortable bed.
3. This coming weekend.