My Opera25 Minutes
Wednesday, October 15, 2008 3:57:03 PM
25 minutes. That's how long the torture was going to last.
Today was the dreaded day of my appointment with my new dentist. I don't like dentists. They scare me with their diabolical chairs, little trays full of torture implements and masks obscuring their identities. Never mind the Watchers, who's watching the drillers? That's what I've long wanted to know.
I slept well enough, but not straight through. I awoke at 2am after a nightmare involving drills and much pain. Dentists cause me genuine anxiety, thanks no doubt to a real monster of a man I met when I was five. Mr Brownlow: hands the size of king-kong's (with twice as much hair on them) and that giant ape's bedside manner, too. Liked to shout at little boys and demean them when their mothers weren't around to defend them/prosecute. Seemed a very angry man, whose only outlet was causing pain in small children with mouths too small to fit his huge simian digits. So I've suffered an acute anxiety re: dentists ever since.
I wasn't looking forward to this at all.
At my checkup it had been determined that I required an extended scale and polish, two fillings and a whole bunch of composite patches to shore up the weak enamel in there. "Book a 25 minute appointment", she said. "Come into my parlour", is what I believe I heard in her voice.
I had to walk into a strange and wild part of Aberdeen, too. Such is the shocking quality of NHS dentistry in our part of the world new client registrations are like gold dust, so choosing your practitioner very much depends on how fast you can pick up the phone: you take what you can get, basically. Mine is in an area known as Northfield, notorious city-wide for being one of the most impoverished areas populated by some of the roughest elements humanity is capable of producing. This also caused me some anxiety but I think I dealt with it well. Google Maps gave me a printout so I wouldn't get lost (It didn't work, but that was me being a muppet) and I made it to the surgery with plenty of time to spare.
Plenty of time in which to sit and worry.
All too quickly, my turn arrived.
I sat in The Chair. Two women swiftly crowded either side of me (another watching from the murky distance). They then reclined me, shone a light at me, and held various disturbing tools directly in my line of sight. Was now a good time for me to break into a panic and start begging for my life? Last chance, Mr Bond.
Sitting comfortably, they began.
It started with the Scale & Polish. Drilling and scraping. My favourite (look for the irony, it's there in spades). However...this ended surprisingly quickly. Much to my amazement my tongue reported a completely different topography at the back of my lower front teeth within three minutes. And I didn't have to spit the tartar crap out, either. Woman No.2 was sucking all of that out with a clever implement that also supplied a spray of water to keep my mouth wet. Something new and unexpected crept into my seige-state of mental anguish: admiration. The dentist lady (an Asian woman with an East European name) had wielded her devices with considerable aplomb, certainly with more skill than my fears had allowed her to possess. It didn't even hurt like I recalled, either. My god, I might actually make it through this alive...
But then came the drilling in earnest: the fillings. For those unaware, putting fillings in usually requires drilling out the bad bits of tooth: they make a hole first then fill it. Dentist Lady had started this without even telling me, which took me by surprise as wikipedia, my darling wikipedia, had told me this activity was usually done AFTER a local anaesthetic had been applied. I was expecting (dreading) needles but got absolutely nothing. Nada. Zip. Bupkiss. In fact, she'd been at it for a full minute before the alarms started going off in my head. 'Hey, hang on. Is she...?'
A sharp sting of biting pain leapt through my jaw as she reached the nerve cluster within the particular tooth she was working on, one of my rear molars. Mouth invaded, throat busy fending off excess water, all I could do was wince and jerk my head away from her probing. "Sorry" she said, in the clinical manner of someone well used to causing pain on a daily basis, and carried on.
The second filling was worse. She did the painful thing three times in a row, obviously looking to get every last bit of yuck out before putting the filling in. Suddenly, the torture was ended. Woman 2 told me that was it, "The worst is over", which I appreciated more than I could say...what with still having two hands and three implements gudding about in my vocal cavity (I'm sure a thumb had been tasked with holding my tongue down, pro-wrestling style). If I'd have been able to sit up without spearing the back of my throat I might have kissed her. Instead I had to make do with a long lingering look of pure, unrefined gratitude.
After that there was a strange repetitive ritual. Something cold sprayed on an area. Then a heat gun, like a small hair-dryer but with a long thin metal tube for the barrel (1950's raygun) was applied to that area for a small length of time determined by a machine behind woman 2 which beeped to signal when it was done. Woman 2 held an odd orange plastic panel over my mouth while she did this. I couldn't work out what function that fulfilled. Then they moved on to another area, and so on.
Then, just like that, it was over. Dentist Lady sat back, asked me to bite down to check her work wasn't going to cause me any further pain, and told me to rinse out my abused mouth. "Please come back in six months for a check-up, and earlier if you have problems".
I had survived. What's more, I think I have finally conquered my phobia! That was the worst it could possibly be, and I survived. My teeth were clean again, and I survived. There was pain, but I've felt much worse (without dentists present) and I survived.
I survived.
Today was the dreaded day of my appointment with my new dentist. I don't like dentists. They scare me with their diabolical chairs, little trays full of torture implements and masks obscuring their identities. Never mind the Watchers, who's watching the drillers? That's what I've long wanted to know.
I slept well enough, but not straight through. I awoke at 2am after a nightmare involving drills and much pain. Dentists cause me genuine anxiety, thanks no doubt to a real monster of a man I met when I was five. Mr Brownlow: hands the size of king-kong's (with twice as much hair on them) and that giant ape's bedside manner, too. Liked to shout at little boys and demean them when their mothers weren't around to defend them/prosecute. Seemed a very angry man, whose only outlet was causing pain in small children with mouths too small to fit his huge simian digits. So I've suffered an acute anxiety re: dentists ever since.
I wasn't looking forward to this at all.
At my checkup it had been determined that I required an extended scale and polish, two fillings and a whole bunch of composite patches to shore up the weak enamel in there. "Book a 25 minute appointment", she said. "Come into my parlour", is what I believe I heard in her voice.
I had to walk into a strange and wild part of Aberdeen, too. Such is the shocking quality of NHS dentistry in our part of the world new client registrations are like gold dust, so choosing your practitioner very much depends on how fast you can pick up the phone: you take what you can get, basically. Mine is in an area known as Northfield, notorious city-wide for being one of the most impoverished areas populated by some of the roughest elements humanity is capable of producing. This also caused me some anxiety but I think I dealt with it well. Google Maps gave me a printout so I wouldn't get lost (It didn't work, but that was me being a muppet) and I made it to the surgery with plenty of time to spare.
Plenty of time in which to sit and worry.
All too quickly, my turn arrived.
I sat in The Chair. Two women swiftly crowded either side of me (another watching from the murky distance). They then reclined me, shone a light at me, and held various disturbing tools directly in my line of sight. Was now a good time for me to break into a panic and start begging for my life? Last chance, Mr Bond.
Sitting comfortably, they began.
It started with the Scale & Polish. Drilling and scraping. My favourite (look for the irony, it's there in spades). However...this ended surprisingly quickly. Much to my amazement my tongue reported a completely different topography at the back of my lower front teeth within three minutes. And I didn't have to spit the tartar crap out, either. Woman No.2 was sucking all of that out with a clever implement that also supplied a spray of water to keep my mouth wet. Something new and unexpected crept into my seige-state of mental anguish: admiration. The dentist lady (an Asian woman with an East European name) had wielded her devices with considerable aplomb, certainly with more skill than my fears had allowed her to possess. It didn't even hurt like I recalled, either. My god, I might actually make it through this alive...
But then came the drilling in earnest: the fillings. For those unaware, putting fillings in usually requires drilling out the bad bits of tooth: they make a hole first then fill it. Dentist Lady had started this without even telling me, which took me by surprise as wikipedia, my darling wikipedia, had told me this activity was usually done AFTER a local anaesthetic had been applied. I was expecting (dreading) needles but got absolutely nothing. Nada. Zip. Bupkiss. In fact, she'd been at it for a full minute before the alarms started going off in my head. 'Hey, hang on. Is she...?'
A sharp sting of biting pain leapt through my jaw as she reached the nerve cluster within the particular tooth she was working on, one of my rear molars. Mouth invaded, throat busy fending off excess water, all I could do was wince and jerk my head away from her probing. "Sorry" she said, in the clinical manner of someone well used to causing pain on a daily basis, and carried on.
The second filling was worse. She did the painful thing three times in a row, obviously looking to get every last bit of yuck out before putting the filling in. Suddenly, the torture was ended. Woman 2 told me that was it, "The worst is over", which I appreciated more than I could say...what with still having two hands and three implements gudding about in my vocal cavity (I'm sure a thumb had been tasked with holding my tongue down, pro-wrestling style). If I'd have been able to sit up without spearing the back of my throat I might have kissed her. Instead I had to make do with a long lingering look of pure, unrefined gratitude.
After that there was a strange repetitive ritual. Something cold sprayed on an area. Then a heat gun, like a small hair-dryer but with a long thin metal tube for the barrel (1950's raygun) was applied to that area for a small length of time determined by a machine behind woman 2 which beeped to signal when it was done. Woman 2 held an odd orange plastic panel over my mouth while she did this. I couldn't work out what function that fulfilled. Then they moved on to another area, and so on.
Then, just like that, it was over. Dentist Lady sat back, asked me to bite down to check her work wasn't going to cause me any further pain, and told me to rinse out my abused mouth. "Please come back in six months for a check-up, and earlier if you have problems".
I had survived. What's more, I think I have finally conquered my phobia! That was the worst it could possibly be, and I survived. My teeth were clean again, and I survived. There was pain, but I've felt much worse (without dentists present) and I survived.
I survived.
Vacancythejdt # Wednesday, October 15, 2008 10:53:54 PM
The "ray gun" was a UV light dentists use to "cure" the fillings. The orange plastic panel was to protect them, not you, from the UV rays.
I, too, hate dentists (and dental technicians) with a passion not seen since Vlad Tepes discovered the fun he could have with gravity and a sharp stick.
GrantTLC # Thursday, October 16, 2008 8:13:26 AM
Protect them and not me?
Thanks for explaining what that was. Trying to figure that out would have driven my subconscious mind mad for the next fortnight.
Gravity and a sharp stick, lol. I bet he made a "wheeeee" sound as his victims plummeted to their doom.
kirsten kirstycat # Thursday, October 16, 2008 8:23:45 AM
i always say as soon as I go to get a filling that I want the pain killers...no way am I going through what you just described! It costs more to get the injection, and they only do it if the filling is nasty enough, which is probably why the NHS try to avoid giving them out willy nilly.
My mum had root canal treatment once with no pain killer injection at all!!! Just thinking of that makes me curl up into a ball and start whimpering! Your description of what you went through also had me doing that!
Why didn't you ask for the injection after the first feeling of pain?
Well done for getting it done though, it's never fun but it's definitely worth it. You'll have lovely shiny smooth white teeth for a while now too
I always thought that orange plastic thing they put in front of my face was to protect my eyes!!! huh! Next time I go for a filling i'm wearing sunglasses and sunblock!
kirsten kirstycat # Thursday, October 16, 2008 8:25:24 AM
GrantTLC # Thursday, October 16, 2008 8:41:36 AM
Originally posted by Kirstycat:
I couldn't even if I'd wanted to!
galadriel # Thursday, October 16, 2008 11:22:49 AM
I once had a filling and no anestetic either...then i had to have ANOTHER one..soooo sore and I CRIED too! '10 minutes more' said the dentist. Well, I'm smarter than a dentist because I can COUNT and I was there for 30 minutes more
I hate it when they drill into a nerve ending and you feel it through your whole skull *is sick*
GrantTLC # Thursday, October 16, 2008 11:37:29 AM
Have a retroactive hug of sympathy for what sounds like a much worse fillings experience than mine! *hug*
Vacancythejdt # Thursday, October 16, 2008 10:09:01 PM
kirsten kirstycat # Thursday, October 16, 2008 10:14:17 PM
NHS dentist are a little scary though, as they are usually fresh out of dentist school, and doing their dentist training before they can become private dentists and millionaires!
galadriel # Thursday, October 16, 2008 11:16:34 PM
PariahLadyArtane # Friday, October 17, 2008 3:59:46 AM
kirsten kirstycat # Friday, October 17, 2008 8:07:57 AM
GrantTLC # Friday, October 17, 2008 11:10:15 AM
No. Because they want you to suffer.
@Ladyartane: I know you told me you spent more time on your back than standing upright but I really didn't think you meant through constant fainting...
galadriel # Sunday, October 19, 2008 1:15:09 AM
My dad thinks I'm stupid because we have private insurance and I don't need to wait until March. But, I like free stuff :|
PariahLadyArtane # Sunday, October 19, 2008 6:52:53 AM
GrantTLC # Monday, October 20, 2008 7:22:39 AM
kirsten kirstycat # Monday, October 20, 2008 8:08:17 AM
PariahLadyArtane # Friday, October 24, 2008 6:05:32 AM