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cosmolinguistI have to go to the dentist today.
I never minded going to the dentist and couldn't understand why my mom hated it. Of course, my mom has had root canals and things and I'd never had anything more than a tooth cleaning--well, except when they put those nasty "sealants" on my teeth as soon as the permanent ones grew in, and that time they had to fix one that had broken ... not fun, but maybe it helped me avoid cavities. Because I've never had any. And I never had to get braces or anything like that. So a trip to the dentist's office was a breeze for me, even though I've never been a fan of the way anything smells, tastes, or sounds there.
When I was a senior in high school the dentist told me he was going to have to take my wisdom teeth out. I'd forgotten that wisdom teeth even existed. I was dismayed at this. I have no tolerance for pain, needles, basically people doing anything to me that's worse than, well, cleaning my teeth (and yes, I think the eye doctor is worse than that--much worse--though I was probably scarred as a young child).
He said he wasn't going to do it until after graduation, though, which was a month or two hence. "Do they hurt?" the dentist asked me. "No," I said. "Well, they're gonna." I didn't think about it at the time, but the fact that he wanted to wait until summer was probably indicative of the nastiness of the procedure. I know people who've found it debiltating; have missed a week of school and such bizarre things like that.
Mostly I heard about those afterward, though. They were impressed that I was behaving fairly normally. The day I ended up getting my--still not hurting--teeth yanked out was also the day I found out I'd broken my foot the night before. So there I was, on crutches and with my mouth bleeding, telling my mom I was indeed going to play in the jazz band for the "ice cream social" that night. She thought I was crazy. It would've been crazy to play a wind instrument, but I played bass ... and I needed to do something besides lay on the couch and watch TV and eat Jello (I've noticed I don't eat Jello or pudding as much as I used to either; probably because I ate little else for a bit there).
People saw me and asked what happened to me; I started making up stories about my foot because the real one was so stupid. That actualy didn't bother me much--what little discomfort it gave me was cacelled out by the nice pink painkillers I had for my mouth. Mostly it was just annoying. But I didn't use those pink pills for long, and a couple of days later I was already starting to forget about my wisdom teeth.
Except I don't eat pudding much anymore.
And I still don't like going to the dentist now.
I never minded going to the dentist and couldn't understand why my mom hated it. Of course, my mom has had root canals and things and I'd never had anything more than a tooth cleaning--well, except when they put those nasty "sealants" on my teeth as soon as the permanent ones grew in, and that time they had to fix one that had broken ... not fun, but maybe it helped me avoid cavities. Because I've never had any. And I never had to get braces or anything like that. So a trip to the dentist's office was a breeze for me, even though I've never been a fan of the way anything smells, tastes, or sounds there.
When I was a senior in high school the dentist told me he was going to have to take my wisdom teeth out. I'd forgotten that wisdom teeth even existed. I was dismayed at this. I have no tolerance for pain, needles, basically people doing anything to me that's worse than, well, cleaning my teeth (and yes, I think the eye doctor is worse than that--much worse--though I was probably scarred as a young child).
He said he wasn't going to do it until after graduation, though, which was a month or two hence. "Do they hurt?" the dentist asked me. "No," I said. "Well, they're gonna." I didn't think about it at the time, but the fact that he wanted to wait until summer was probably indicative of the nastiness of the procedure. I know people who've found it debiltating; have missed a week of school and such bizarre things like that.
Mostly I heard about those afterward, though. They were impressed that I was behaving fairly normally. The day I ended up getting my--still not hurting--teeth yanked out was also the day I found out I'd broken my foot the night before. So there I was, on crutches and with my mouth bleeding, telling my mom I was indeed going to play in the jazz band for the "ice cream social" that night. She thought I was crazy. It would've been crazy to play a wind instrument, but I played bass ... and I needed to do something besides lay on the couch and watch TV and eat Jello (I've noticed I don't eat Jello or pudding as much as I used to either; probably because I ate little else for a bit there).
People saw me and asked what happened to me; I started making up stories about my foot because the real one was so stupid. That actualy didn't bother me much--what little discomfort it gave me was cacelled out by the nice pink painkillers I had for my mouth. Mostly it was just annoying. But I didn't use those pink pills for long, and a couple of days later I was already starting to forget about my wisdom teeth.
Except I don't eat pudding much anymore.
And I still don't like going to the dentist now.
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Date: 2003-06-26 11:00 am (UTC)