|Wednesday, Sept. 20, 2006 || Do dentists do trachs?|
I have never been afraid of the dentist. As a child, I liked getting my teeth cleaned - loved how they felt afterward. Shoot, I even liked the taste of that gritty paste they used! I didn't really have any cavities until after I had our first child (makes one believe that the little parasite - I mean, baby - really does suck calcium from your teeth). Even after breaking a front tooth in 5th grade and having to go through repairs and bonding several times since then, I've never minded going.
I am gearing up for some cosmetic work on my front teeth, so today I had to go in for two fillings. I will be using bleaching trays before I am fitted for crowns, and they will match the crowns to what will hopefully be whiter toofers. And apparantly the bleach hurts like Hades if you have an unfilled cavity. Or two. So two fillings, coming right up.
I went in this afternoon, sat down, and the work began. Isn't it nice that they prep the area with that numbing gel-stuff before putting the mile-long-takes-forever-to-numb-you needle in your mouth?
(Detecting a bit of sarcasm here...)
So, everything is going along swimmingly, or as well as can be expected when you have three people peering into your mouth while several foreign objects are inserted into said mouth to hold it open, dampen it, dry it, drill it, and fill it. With the first round of drilling completed, everyone backed off a bit, and I felt something fall back into my throat. Of course, since I am by now numb from the top of my head to my waist (okay, okay, a slight exaggeration, but you know what I mean), I can't tell what it is, and I certainly can't get it back out.
Gagging commences. At first, I thought, no big deal. I gag again. And again. By now my eyes were not only watering, but tears were coursing down the sides of my face, and one of the assistants shrieked:
"It's stuck in her throat!
Not exactly something you want to hear. Visions of trachs and crash cards a la House and ER flashed before my eyes as the dentist proceeded to dig at the back of my throat- I mean, gently dislodge whatever it is that has "fallen and can't get up".
After what seemed an eternity - and after most certainly raising my BP a few notches - said object was secured and removed.
Turns out that the grippy-thingie that was holding my mouth open - you know, the thing you bite down on - decided to take a little stroll to speak with my uvula. Which, come to think of it, if they've numbed your mouth with enough lidocaine to render a small animal incapcitated for several days, why do they ask you to bite down and hold something in that same mouth?!
I think that it scared the poor assistant more than it did me, poor thing. She was visibly shaken. She said that was the scariest thing she's ever experienced in her job.
Glad I could help you with that, miss.
Ah thin I wuhl twy to dwink suh wah-duh now... (still numb...)
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