The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of dentist appointments. Last month I finally made the dreaded phone call to see a dentist after several years of pretending my teeth were invincible… I called a new practice I’d heard good things about, secretly hoping they wouldn’t be able to get me in for a month. Of course, they scheduled an appointment for the next day. And the universe laughed at me.
See, I had a somewhat traumatic dental experience with my wisdom teeth in my first year of college, so I have a little phobia when it comes to people messing with my teeth. What I neglected to remember was that regular checkups mean less trauma in the long run!
Ironically enough, the verdict was one cavity for every year I hadn’t had a cleaning (which would be eight, but who’s counting?) So for the last five weeks, every Monday morning has started with me in a dentist’s chair having something drilled, filled, poked, scraped, prodded, and stabbed (I suppose the day can only get better from there, right?) It wasn’t as bad as I expected, but it certainly wasn’t a tropical vacation. They filled the last three cavities this morning, and now my molars are practically bionic.
I’ve learned my lesson. The floss and I are going to get all buddy-buddy in the years to come, because as much as I like my new dentist, I don’t want to see him every week!