On avoiding the CLACK, CLACK, CLACK! of Wooden Teeth.


My life story can be told through a series of medieval and traumatic experiences at various dentist offices. Once my postpartum anxiety / PTSD situation happened (unrelated to dental work BUT) the idea of going to the dentist was pretty much unthinkable.

So here I've been sitting lo, these many months just letting the plaque accumulate and the red wine and coffee stain what's left of my teeth.  But so what? Who cares?  Everyone knows I'm just going to let them fall out and then insert new wooden ones myself with the help of a Youtube tutorial eventually.  Wooden teeth will be the next big thing.  "George Washington Chic" seems like something Hipsters might make happen, doesn't it?

So what could have possibly lead me to go get my teeth cleaned earlier this week?  The big motivator is some insurance money that is about to disappear into the ether and the other is that I actually found a practice that takes treating dental phobic people like myself seriously.  Ladies and Germs (under my tongue) I give you...

Hold my calls.
That's right.  Dentistry...ASLEEP.

Sure, I spent most of the night before my appointment in a panic over the anaesthetic and the whole thing was sort of a trigger for bad thoughts and anxiety BUT once I got there the next morning I knew that I'd made the right decision.

I had a lengthy consultation earlier in the week with a lovely nurse (Kathryn) and the dentist (Dr. Dann) which really helped me and then the day of the cleaning everyone who dealt with me was just incredible.  It was all very gentle, starting with a sleeping pill and numbing cream on the area where the iv went in.  Next thing I knew they were waking me up in recovery. Literally every other dentist I've been to has felt like a sadistic butcher.  I liked this guy so much I might even stay awake next time. Maybe.  Anyway, A+ to the whole team.

Post Dentistry...AWAKE!
It felt more like a trip to the spa then anything else!  The next couple of days were a bit of a challenge recovering (I KNOW how stupid that sounds, btw) but it was all worth it in the end.  It is located in Yorkville, so when the nurse in scrubs walked me out the front door of a low rise office building with my giant swollen duck lips and face-eating shades into the waiting car I'm sure everyone walking by thought "hey, she looks pretty great for an 80 year old...and look, she doesn't even have wooden teeth!"

1 comment :

  1. I let the staff go at my choppers with a hacksaw, awake and cracking jokes all the while. Counting the seconds until I can leave and hit the Tim Hortons down the street.

    No. I'm not a masochist, I've just grown more wary of needles as the years have gone by. "Wary" doesn't actually cover it, but I don't want to sound like too much of a wuss.

    I'm happy for the latest professionals in your life. "George Washington chic" - Ha!


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