I’ve had an on-again-off-again relationship with my dentist’s office for many, many years.
It has mostly been off again, which is sad since my dentist is phenomenal. Of course, I still avoid him like the plague (plaque?).
My first dental disaster happened at age 15 when I was babysitting my high school sweatheart’s little sister. We were sitting on the couch eating Fritos when one of my molars split in two. Whenever I think of it, the image of Paul Bunyan splitting wood with an ax immediately follows and then I cringe as if I can feel the pain all over again.
That tooth was never fully repaired. There have been a series of root canals and crowns performed on it. The first crown came off sometime during college. I didn’t make it to the dentist office during those years. I was lucky to get to the grocery store during college, and I like eating food.
After proposing to me, my husband made me promise that I would finally fix the tooth or he wouldn’t go through with the ceremony. (We’re romantic like that.)
So I took care of it. After almost a decade of hiding from the dentist, I called a new dentist and made an appointment to resolve all of my dental issues. Unbeknownst to me, I had a whole lot more to fix than expected.
My dentist explained that I had a lot of work to be done, but to make it easier, he would write me a prescription for Xanax to cure my dental anxiety. The deal was that I got to pop a little pill to calm my nerves before each visit. It worked and I went full-force into fix-it mode. The Xanax kept me lighthearted enough through my appointments and I ended up with a completed bridge, a few more fillings, and a new crown. It was a gold crown, a decision made while in the comfy zaniness induced by the Xanax. My daughter loves my gold tooth.
I kept up on my appointments as best I could and over the duration of a couple years, I got my teeth back in fighting condition. And then I got pregnant. Unfortunately, Xanax is on the list of medications pregnant women shouldn’t take. High anxiety returned and I opted to wait until after my daughter was born to go back under the drill for my final procedures.
So, I had a baby and stopped going to the dentist ... for almost five years. After putting it off for as long as I could as a semi-responsible adult, I decided to return to the dentist chair in January 2008.
I met with my dentist and came up with a plan of attack. I needed two more crowns and four fillings. It was a lot, but he assured me that we could knock all of the procedures out in the coming months. I was sure I was going to go through with it, and then, a month after our meeting, I ended up pregnant again.
My sister accused me of getting pregnant just to avoid the dentist. I don’t discount her theory. On a subconscious level, I’m sure I’m capable of many dental-avoidance tactics. It just happens that getting pregnant serves me on many ways ... averting the dentist is just one of them.
That pregnancy is now over and my baby is nearly six months old. I know I can’t wait another five more years before I go back under the drill; and my days of getting pregnant to dodge the dentist are over. It’s time for me to recline back in the vinyl chair of despair, and this time I’m doing it without anti-anxiety drugs.
This column is my pep talk to myself. You can do it, Amy. It’s just a dentist appointment, what’s the worst that could happen?
For me, the worst that can happen is the sound of the drill just before it touches my Novacained-up tooth. I don’t like the sound of walking on snow because it reminds me of a dentist’s drill. And even though I can’t feel it, the image of my about-to-be-crowned tooth being shaved down to nearly nothing is almost unbearable. But I am going to go through with it this time. No excuses, no pandering to fear. This year is the year that I confront my dental crisis once and for all. Nothing will stop me ... not even a pregnancy.
Amy Gesenhues is a freelance writer who lives in Floyd County. You can read her daily commentaries at www.AmyWroteIt.Wordpress.com. E-mail her directly at amy@amywroteit.com.
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GESENHUES: Dental discontent
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