Vodka and a Sippy Cup
I have a pretty good relationship with
my teeth. I had some cavities back in the day, mostly attributable to three
years of braces running interference with my brushing. However, those fillings
are now ancient-with-a-capital-OLD, and my dentist is in the process of drilling
out the old silver amalgams and putting new, better-fitting, white fillings in
those teeth. As these things are in four disparate places about my mouth, I'm
getting to know the front office staff pretty well as we painstakingly move from
appointment to appointment. Doc takes most of the pains, whereas mostly I'm
feeling little to no pain, but I like it that
way.
That is, until a couple
of days ago.
My dentist's
office usually runs very smoothly and very punctually. I'm a punctual person
myself, so I like that. However, something was going on the other day. I spent
almost an hour sitting in the chair, with a droolingly numb jaw, tongue, and
lower lip. If a village had an opening for an idiot, I definitely had the look.
Finally, Doc told me his partner was going to have to do my teeth, as he was
dealing with an emergency. Fine - I understand emergency, and I've met her -
she's good people.
So she
starts in with the drilling. Since it's been almost an hour since I had my
novocain shot, she's a bit concerned that I might need another, but I am
resistant to the idea, as that would mean more delay and a longer evening with
no feeling in the lower left side of my mouth. She drills and drills. Drills
some more. Oh, and by the way, she TALKS. She's from Western Mass., so she's
got a half-comforting (homelike), half-irritating (ditto) accent.
The talking and the drilling
and the filling went on for another hour. This cavity is not only old, but deep
(ouch), and the amalgam has been sitting against the neighbor tooth, so that
one's got a small cavity as well. My jaw aches, my ears ache. When asked to
rinse and spit, I feebly swish and dribble. It is not a good evening for Our
Heroine.
By the time I get
home, Our Hero meets me at the door and asks what I want. "Vodka tonic in a
sippy cup,*" I reply in my best Village Idiot, rubber-lipped manner.
And because Our Hero is a
wonderful man, that's exactly what I got.
*ETA
- Which sounded more like: "thibby cub."
Posted: Thursday - December 22, 2005 at 05:22 PM
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