You would think after giving birth twice, naturally, out of the hospital, that something as mundane as going to the dentist wouldn’t give me hives, but it does. We’ve had our new dental insurance for months now, but I put off calling and making a new patient appointment until Monday, when my tooth broke again. Oh tooth. Why have you got to be such a fragile jerk? I’ve been battling with this tooth for years, and after the last time my shitty-dentist patched it (with duct tape and fishtake sealer!) (okay, no, but he didn’t even clean the damn thing out before he did patch it, so it’s been infected ever since), he told me that the next time it breaks, he wants to ‘rip it out’. Mind you, this is my last molar on my top left jaw, and I Do like to eat with that side of my mouth. He also told me another tooth was fine, even when the gums around it were so inflamed that my cheek puffed out. His fingers smelled like cigarettes, his assistants were scared of him, and there were bars on the windows of the exam rooms. It was classy.
So, when my tooth broke again on Monday, I first denied that anything was wrong because ACK DENTISTS, and then once Tom talked me down from the ledge, I decided to take advantage of our new (much better!) dental insurance and call the swanky office down the road.
And ya’ll? I want to marry my new dentist, I love her so. She is young, funny, has a cute accent, and didn’t make me feel like a loser for being scared and needing two (TWO!) root canals. I’ll give you a guess which teeth are falling out of my head. Why yes, it IS the broken tooth, and the swollen one. How ever could you, someone without a degree in dentistry, having never looked in my mouth, have known that? Because you are not an idiot you say? Well, I agree. And I want to punch my old dentist in the mouth.