I know everyone is a little uncomfortable with the dentist, but I really am terrified. Like, I shake. And cry. When I was a kid, I lied to my mom about brushing my teeth. I would say I did it, or even rub toothpaste on my tongue, but I wouldn't ever actually BRUSH. If I could go back, I'd smack my five-year-old self right across the nose.
As you may imagine, I had a lot of cavities as a kid. If I remember correctly, at one particular appointment after an announcement of 6 new cavities, my dentist told me my teeth were going to fall out of my head if I didn't get it together. I think I was ten. (Dr. Meiers, I still have nightmares about you and your damn drills. Jerk).
At some point in my teens (I know, I know, too late) my parents got me a Sonicare and I got it together. No more new cavities. But there's a problem. When you have 15* fillings in your mouth, particularly silver fillings, they have a tendency to break. And get stuff stuck in them. And to warp and break your teeth. So I can't say I was terribly surprised when my dentist told me at my appointment two weeks ago that all of my amalgams would have to come out because no matter how much I was brushing, I couldn't get underneath them, and my teeth were having problems (read: decaying) underneath the fillings. We decided to split it up into 5 or 6 different appointments, and he gave me a prescription for sedatives to help me get through it.
The assistant told me since I have such bad anxiety to just take both of them at once an hour before the appointment. Andy dropped me off, I still freaked out, and then I came home and slept until 4:30 the next morning. That was 12 solid hours of sleep.
Something interesting happened between when I took those pills and when I woke up this morning. Andy told me that I yelled at him for walking ahead of me and "not taking care of me" (sorry, darling). I looked at my phone and found all of these texts that I sent out. I have no recollection of these:
Tia and Kristy are two of my best friends. We go to happy hour every month. This was my attempt to communicate that I wouldn't be able to make it:
"Less Drivey?" I think I meant I couldn't drive...
Kristy is looking for a new job. I showed her BESS, the Boeing job search engine. This was my drugged description of it (not inaccurate):
This was a text to my Mom. Absolutely no idea where I was going with this:
wat?
Four more appointments to go...we'll see how I do with those.
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