Fluorescent light burning in your eyes. The taste of rubber gloves in your mouth. The strange vacuum sensation on your tongue when a resident holds the suction tube too close.
Okay, so I won’t lie and pretend that I don’t shed a couple tears at the dentist’s. Because I do. I don’t even realize how incredibly uncomfortable I am until there’s a tiny, metallic engine drilling against my teeth. At that point, acting my age is the least of my worries and I am holding on to the rail for dear life, praying to the gods that it will be over soon.
Today, I got three fillings – one on the bottom, two on top. (Not exactly a welcoming event after a dream trip to Boston.) Ever since I was little, my teeth have been prone to cavities. I brush twice a day, floss nightly and don’t eat a lot of sugar. I don’t drink coffee or soda or tea (only on occasion). I do everything a responsible tooth-owner should do. Unfortunately, my dentists have said I can attribute my soft teeth to genetics. Not even drinking milk will help.
The thing is, I haven’t been to the dentist in years. This time around, I knew there would be a degree of, er, unpleasantness, but I didn’t really prepare myself for just how much it sucked. The worst part was having my gums injected–like, using a needle–with anesthesia. It really, really hurt. The only good thing is, that was the first step they did so I got it over with pretty quickly.