A Tale of Tuesday

It was a typical Tuesday.

Get up. Drink coffee. Get dressed. More coffee. Find something to eat for breakfast. Don't chew on the left side.

You know, typical.

I have a long and expensive dental history that goes as far back as I can remember.

As a matter of fact I have vivid memories of being at the dentist,gas mask on my face, which I am certain didn't make one iota of difference on my nerves.

I once felt that same way as an adult for a "minor" procedure in the doctors office that required a little blue pill called Valium. Supposedly it would render me "careless" and I would "probably dose off " while being poked and prodded and generally made to feel awful.

It didn't work.

Other than a Michael Jackson cocktail, there is no chemical match for my nerves.

I blame my mother.

Back in the day the only cure for my dental nerves was bribery.

My mom, being a wise mother-of-three was not above a little gift to make the visit worth while.

Neither was I.

I do believe I received many a fine pair of shoes and several milkshakes on the promise of good behavior at the dentist.

Yesterday I went to the dentist on account of the inability to chew on the left side. I felt certain that I could do this indefinitely as long as it prolonged a deposit to the dentist's vacation fund  a two-hour stay in the torture dental chair.

Seriously I waited as long as I could, but after three weeks I started to have vivid dreams at night that my teeth were falling out, and as it turns out I actually like to eat...and the left side of my palate wants part of the action too.

So I made the call yesterday afternoon in hopes that they were booked-up until next spring.

Go figure, they "have time to see you today!"


Wonderful. 

Let me grab my husband's wallet.

My dentist is a nice woman, and her office staff is great; but their cozy office decorations, flat screen TV's and professional manner cannot keep me from fear.

Its not dental work I'm scared of...it's the bill.

No, that's not entirely true...it's the fact that at nearly 38 years old I don't have my mother to sweeten the Novocain-injected deal. Where's the promise of new sandals at the end of the visit? I wanted to treat myself to a Starbucks (a venti non-fat Cinnamon Dolce latte is comfort food to me) but who can afford a five dollar coffee when you are about to spend twelve hundred smack-a-roos?

Yes, $1200.

As it turns out, I need a crown. But before I can get the crown I need a root canal. Which means I have to see a specialist. Tomorrow.

I wish I could tell you that I have never done this before but the truth is, I've read this chapter before.

The good news is that my long-suffering husband didn't even bat an eye as I gave him the itemized financial statement. He just looked at me sweetly as I broke the news, as if he had already surrendered to life-long financial support of my chompers. For richer or poorer, in root canals and fillings.

He's a good man...(and he's got perfect teeth.)

It was a typical Tuesday....