I’m Pretty Sure I’m Still High from All the Pills I Took Today

I had a root canal today.

Ugh.

For months, the very last molar in the very back of my mouth on the bottom left has been acting up. I ignored it until the tooth finally gave up the subtle cues and started screaming BITCH PAY ATTENTION TO ME.

I haven’t been to the dentist in years. I could have called the last guy I went to, but I felt like I was being spammed every time I went there. “Buy the $200 Pulsonic 4000 toothbrush or your teeth will ROT!” “Try our gold-plated floss for only three payments of $34.99 or your teeth will ROT!” “Invest in a commemorative DVD of your dental visit or your teeth will ROT!” “Quit smoking or your teeth will ROT!”

Instead, I did what any rational woman would do: I called the dentist that had the tasteful tile work on the sign out front.

Tasteful Tilework Dentistry was a converted house in the historic district. The waiting room had plush leather lounge chairs. Colorful arts-and-crafts windows. Restored original hardwood floors, polished to a high shine. The receptionist had the eye makeup of a porn star. The doctor herself was so cute, it was kind of hard to believe she was actually a dentist and I wondered how many dicks she sucked to get her degree.

Anyway.

They took a couple of X-rays, which were immediately displayed on the flat-screen TV hanging on the wall. Luxe. Then, the dental assistant took out what looked like an electric toothbrush, but it was actually a camera to take a picture of my tooth. Well then. She snapped a few pics of my molar, which also displayed in high res on the TV.

You have to understand that the last time I went to the dentist, it was a novelty to have a Walkman playing Amy Grant to drown out the drilling sound.

Within five minutes, Dr. Adorable was able to tell me that I had a pocket of infected disgust surrounding the root of my molar. I would need to start up on antibiotics and either pull the tooth or get a root canal and a crown.

I’m only 31. I might be unemployed, and I might not be able to make the mortgage payment this month, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be missing teeth this young.

But a root canal? Really?

You see, I’m not what they call a “good patient.” I’ve had a root canal before and it wasn’t pretty. I was trembling so hard that the doctor wouldn’t work on me. He sent me away with a prescription for horse tranquilizers and told me to come back another day. I took a pill and came back. Nothing. Two pills? Nada. Three pills? Okay, now we were getting somewhere. I sat in the doctor’s chair and promptly snored my way through the rest of the procedure. When I woke up, he told me he’d had to prop my mouth open with a roll of tape to do the root canal.

So.

This time, Dr. Sucked Her Way Through Dental School gave me a couple of Xanax to make it through. Within 20 minutes of taking the first pill, my legs felt like lead and I couldn’t put on my pants, but I was pretty sure I was going to FREAK THE FUCK OUT when I got to the endodontist. So I took another.

I’ve obviously never taken Xanax before.

I vaguely remember waking myself up with my own snoring while the doctor ripped nerves out of my face.

An hour-and-a-half and $385 later, I’m the proud new owner of an empty shell of a tooth.

I have to pump for 24 hours to clear out the Xanax, but believe me, it’s been totally worth it.