Fire in the hole!

Oh, D-Day. The day I NEVER look forward. And nope, I’m not talking about June 6, 1944. I’m referring to my dentist appointment last week. I’m pretty sure some of the sounds I heard throughout my appointment, though, rivaled those of the Invasion of Normandy, especially the multiple f-bombs I mumbled to myself after the appointment was over.

We all have our idiosyncrasies and one of mine is part of the reason I hate going to my dentist. I’m petrified of the stairs that lead up to his second floor office. No lie. They’re the no-riser type stairs and they absolutely freak me out! The riser is the vertical board that connects one stair to the next and it’s that itty bitty one board that I find such comfort in. :) Here’s a pictorial for those like me that need a visual:




I know in my head they should be perfectly safe, but I can’t get over the fact that I feel like if I walk too hard or have that extra bite of cake at dinner, I might break one and fall to my death! Ugh. And because of this, I’m always faced with two options as I enter the building: do I run really fast up the stairs and to get to the top ASAP, or do I gingerly step on them in hopes of not putting too much quick movement on them? What to do, what to do…maybe find a new dentist??

And now that my anxiety level is soaring after finally making it to the second floor, why not push it completely off the charts by getting a cavity filled?! Joy. Here’s just a few highlights of the chaos that ensued:

• As I’m hearing the drilling, buzzing, and swishing around of water in my mouth, my dentist quickly stopped for a second to turn his head…..and sneeze. Ummm…yeah. Because I close my eyes the entire time I’m in “the chair” (even for cleanings) I don’t know how he sneezed. But I’m guessing it’s better I don’t know. Do you think he sneezed into his elbow like Obama and the H1N1 people want us to? Or did he sneeze into his latex gloved hand that returned to my mouth seconds later? Definitely better off not knowing…

• Once the shrill of the drill and accoutrements settled down for a second, all I could focus on was this weird ticking noise I could hear. No joke – sounded just like a ticking time bomb! This went on for the duration of the appt. Nothing like helping my anxiety, doc.

• As the pain got more intense I thought to myself, “Anne, don’t let this guy off easy!” So mainly because I had nothing better to do, I contorted what facial muscles I still had control of into what I thought would be the most gruesome look on my face to express my general displeasure of the situation. And it worked! I got an immediate “I’m sorry! I’m trying to hurry.” Gotcha! But just in case he was yanking my chain and he wasn’t hurrying, I kept my face contorted until the procedure ended. I may have just given myself a few extra wrinkle lines, but it was worth it. Two can play this game, doc.

• FINALLY, I was done. As I’m hurrying to gather my purse and get the hell out of dodge, the perky hygienist was all, “Go enjoy the sunshine!” and I’m all, “How about some cocktails instead?” I got a strange look and an awkward chuckle. Score.

Pity party of one, your table is now ready…

• And last, because my mouth/lips went through the Invasion of Anne for the previous 30-45 minutes, I went to put on some of my trusty Chapstick in the car. Bad part? My whole bottom half of my face was numb so I’m fairly certain I completely overshot my lips and got some cheek action, too. Sweet. I probably looked like this (minus the red color since mine was thankfully clear):

Note to self: Begin flossing more regularly IMMEDIATELY to avoid a repeat of this event.

~as