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Saturday, November 5, 2011

The Return of the Dentist FROM HELL OR There She Goes Again OR Now That She's Done With Bubba She Will Write Blog Silliness Again!

Fat Woman in the magical forest.  Notice the sparkling
trees, hence the magicality.  (Yes, I made up a word.)
Once upon a time there was another visit to the...da-da-dah...dentist.  Fat Woman was frolicking along in a magical forest minding her own business when suddenly I was captured by an evil dentist and his henchwoman hygienist.  They dragged me off to their black fortress lair, also known as the dentist's office and they called it an 'appointment.'  There, I was chained to a chair and forced to have my teeth cleaned and also have x-rays.  It was wretched torture of the most malignant type.  (I may be exaggerating here.)

I imagine the evil dentist as a giant tooth.  Look how
white he is.  (This is kind of like having a mascot
that is what you're selling.  I.e., a chicken selling
chicken products.  But it's my blog and my illustrations
and my brain.)
The dentist said, "You have two cavities.  They must be filled.  You will come in next week for the ritualized maiming and torturing of your mouth for this cataclysmic event."  (No, he didn't really say that, but it was implied.  You know, people often say things to me that are implied.  It's implied that it's implied.  If you understand that, you're a very special person.)

So two weeks later I was frolicking in the magical forest again, minding my own business when suddenly the demonic dental imps snatched me again, forcing me to return for the dreaded 'follow-up.'

I should have put sparkles on the giant monster tooth's teeth.
Just saying.
There I was in the chair.  I got Junior this time.  (He, who is a dentist and DOES NOT, thankfully, have fingers the size of elephant's legs, unlike his father.)  I mentioned something about his father, Senior, and here was the comment I got in response, "Dad's the best dentist I know."  (Sure hope they didn't read the other blog I wrote about dentists because I beg to differ.  No, I don't beg but I damn sure differ.)  Then he said, "My technique is different from his."  (I didn't know how to take that but since I was already in the chair and my mouth was open, I went with it.)  (You're trapped there, you know.  Once you're in the dental chair, and your mouth is open, and those tools are an inch away from your flesh and blood, what are you really going to do?  Leap up and say, "You know, I've changed my mind about the whole dental is good thing.  Let's just stay friends."?  I don't think so.)


Oh, yes, Junior's technique was different.  He whipped out the big needle without numbing my mouth first and plunged it into my quivering flesh.  (I mean the inside of my mouth.)  I think I swallowed my tongue for a few minutes and I'm sure I heard it scraping against bone.


Junior dug around for a few hours with the needle.  (It might have been thirty seconds.)  He pulled back, got another needle, which looked bigger than the first one and hummed while he waited for the first batch to start numbing me up.  Not sure what he was humming but it had a rhythm and you could dance to it.  (I was concentrating on the pain in my jaw.)

Back to the needle in my mouth.  The second time was all pressure and my ass was levitating into the air.  (The next time I get a cavity, I'm just going to take a muscle relaxer before I go.  It'll probably be easier on everyone involved.  If you come home from the dentist and your entire body hurts from tensing up, then pharmaceutical assistance wouldn't be amiss.)

Junior disappeared for a bit and everything on the left side of my face slowly went numb.  This time my ear didn't go numb, but I don't think I could feel my nose.  By the time Junior came back I was drooling down the side of my face.  (I wouldn't have known except that the stream of saliva made it to the flesh that could still feel.)

Junior didn't use the clamp to hold my mouth open which was a positive for him.  But on the negative side he kept telling me to open my mouth up more.  (Like the last time, we could have played a drinking game for the three thousand times he did say it.)  Do I really need to repeat that this fat woman's mouth only opens so damned far and not one skin-ripping, jaw-popping, screaming inch further?  (Well, I don't think I do but I did it anyway.)

Then came the drill.  Oh that magical drill of supreme happiness that whirls into my heart.  Not.


It was the drill of death.  Apparently my narrow arch (I'll remind everyone that the dentist tells me I have the narrowest arch he's ever seen, which equates to a small mouth and not a lot of room to work in) prevented Junior from using the BIG drill.  (I'd like to point out that the one he did use looked BIG enough for me.)  (There's a joke here about size matters but I won't go there.)

And for some reason Junior didn't have a handy assistant with which to suck out my accumulating spit.  So occasionally he had to stop and vaccu-suck my mouth.  I would have signaled but I was busy trying not to drown.


Cue the burning dog hair smell.  This is always such a fun part of the visit.  I could see (I could!) smoke coming out of my mouth and it wasn't the good kind of smoke like when you just took a hit off a doobie.  (Not that I've done that for twenty-five years.  I swear.)  Seeing smoke come out of your mouth is rather alarming when you haven't done anything that would normally accompany such an event.  Plus it goes right past your nose and you can't help smelling it and it does not smell good.


I was too busy trying not to swallow that I got this foul taste in my mouth from burning tooth debris that I very nearly yakked in the dental chair.  Now while it's true I don't like the dentist, (It's true.) I've never actually had to keep myself before from barfing on an office visit.

I had to stop Junior so I could make my gag reflex stand down.

Fortunately he was at the filling part and put the drill away.  I'm not sure if he was impressed that I didn't puke on him.  (It probably would have made an impression if I had.)

Anyway, it's a full week later and my jaw where I got the first shot still hurts.  Also I haven't paid the bill yet, so isn't life full of funness and joy everlasting?

Back to the magical forest to play with unicorns, or maybe man-eating dragons, or something less dramatic than dentists.

4 comments:

MarshllMNDentist said...

To some people, the fear of going to the dentist may be more painful than what the dental practitioner will actually do to cause pain. If you are one of the many with a fear of getting dental work done, then you need to find a dentist that offers something that will take away your fear of going. Having your teeth cared for is important for the health of your mouth but there are also connections with other parts of the body as well, so it is essential to not take them for granted. Dentists offer types of dentistry that may appeal to those with a fear of going. As you begin your search for the right dental practitioner, you should do some research into these options to see if anyone in your area offers them.

Dentist Marshall MN

Carwoo said...

I do not know what to say to this. Going to the dentist does not cause fear in me. It causes a great amount of material for future blogging because something always happens there. Good luck with your extententialistic dentistry.

Hertha Gearin said...

Hahahah! I love the comic strip. It made me laugh. It isn't kid-friendly, though. Kids might get scared of the dentist when they read this story.

Carwoo said...

I don't believe I've ever told a minor (anyone under 18) to read my blog. If I did I made a grievious boo-boo. But yea for making people laugh. I love that.