Going to the Dentist

Going to the dentist is usually not on anyone's top ten list of fun things to do. I'm not sure why, but it probably has something to do with having your mouth wrenched open so wide you could swallow a basketball, being forced to choke on your own saliva, and getting stabbed repeatedly with sharp objects. Other than that, it's not so bad.

Because going to the dentist is such a traumatizing experience, I often hold off until it is absolutely necessary. And when my teeth are the color and consistency of baked beans, I know 'necessary' is right around the corner. Before I cave in and make an appointment, however, I first go through the five stages of dying teeth, beginning with denial: "You guys aren't that rotten. I kind of like your deep, earthy tones. I don't need to eat foods that are tough to chew, like apples, bread, and pudding." Next is anger: "Just go die and leave me all alone then! Who told you to eat all of that sugar?! You aren't even mine, you were adopted!" After that, it's bargaining: "I'll give you a lollipop if you stop rotting." Then depression: "Oh maybe I'll just die too then." And last, acceptance: "OK you win. I'll go to the dentist, right after I finish this lollipop."

Since I made an appointment and am now in the waiting room, all I can do is nervously pace back and forth, wipe down my sweaty palms, and attempt to jump out the window when they call my name. Once they finally do summon me, I'll take a deep breath and try to pretend I'm all calm, cool, and collected by doing the electric slide into the dentist's office.

After I'm sitting in the operating chair, I'll start rattling off all sorts of friendly banter to try and help conceal my nerves. "It's a nice day today. I wear a size nine shoe. Want to see me jump out the window?" With any luck, he'll realize how anxious I am and have the common courtesy to shoot me in the neck with a tranquilizer dart.

As the dentist hovers above me with horrifying tools like drills, needles, and dental floss, I'll do everything in my power to hold still and stop crying. It's not easy, especially after he stuffs his entire fist in my mouth, but I have to try.

The procedure usually goes quite well once we get to the part where I choke on my own saliva and pass out. Now it's just sit back, relax, and let the dentist do his thing. And, since I'm unconscious, I no longer have to worry about stuff like anxiety, pain, or breathing. It's just how a dentist appointment should be.

When it's all said and done, I'll come to and realize all of my teeth were pulled. I'll look up at the dentist with tears in my eyes and exclaim, "My beans are gone!" With any luck he'll feel bad and give me a lollipop before I leave.