[tweetmeme source=”elizabethev” only_single=false] (…And fear itself. But let’s be honest, the drill’s scarier.)
You’ll probably lose respect for me, assuming you had any in the first place, if I tell you how long I’ve put off going to the dentist. I consider myself to be rather healthy, and furthermore, responsible, but those attributes go out the window when it comes to my crippling fear of the dentist’s office. I suppose I have good reason for being terrified, having had all sorts of dental work done and redone and re-re-done.
But really. I’m 28. It’s time to get over it. And by get over it, I mean have my 28 year old boyfriend accompany me to a routine cleaning, with the promise of laughing gas if I need it. Nick has a great dentist (which comes in handy when your tooth gets knocked out by a fellow fraternity brother wielding a trash can…ahem…) and pep talked me into making an appointment. And apparently, he took pictures.
Nick met me in Copley and lead the way to the office. I walked in, I completed paper work, I had x-rays, I nearly fainted, I had my teeth examined and cleaned, I nearly cried, I had another set of x-rays, I rinsed, I nearly fainted again, I agreed to come back for follow up visits, I re-applied lip gloss, and that was that.
You know how people say, “It’s never as bad as you think it’s going to be?” I am the reason people say that. While the dentist and hygienist were reviewing the x-rays, I tried to convince Nick I would have 20 cavities and would subsequently need 37 root canals, 2 of George Washington’s wooden teeth, plus whatever a bridge is, and that I’d probably have to sell Clark and both of my kidneys to pay for half of it. For the rest, I’d try pass off Monopoly money as real money.
Yes, I do have to go back to get a few things fixed, but it’s no where near as bad as I imagined. In fact, I am not sure I even have 20 teeth, so I definitely don’t have 20 cavities. (Okay, I just counted. I have 24 teeth. I think. I had some permanent teeth pulled as a tween, so I guess that makes sense. Why I am typing my inner monologue?)
Even without dental insurance, the damage is manageable. I’ll go back in the next month or so, get things taken care of, and never… ever… miss another dentist appointment as long as me and my teeth shall live. You (and Nick) have my word on this.
And word is bond. Sort of like my bonded front teeth, resulting from an unfortunate swimming accident in 1992 or thereabouts.
Also On Tap for Today:
- Clark has his 1 year check up and Rabies vaccine! No foaming in this condo!
- I sort of love this apple pie-rate ship
- Soccer game (only two more left!)
What are you most afraid of? Who’s your best cheerleader when it comes to overcoming your fears? (Booze doesn’t count, people.)