Dental Damn

I went in to go get my crown. 

The knowledge that I had no nerve in my tooth made me feel confident, relaxed even. First, the assistant came in the room. She was wearing black scrubs. I’ve never seen black scrubs. Who wears black scrubs? Morbid. I then noticed all the assistants were wearing black scrubs. The other day, they’d been wearing blue scrubs. I guessed they had a strict dress code. And a clause in the employee manual requiring the receptionist to wear porn star makeup. 

Black Scrubs made small talk about kids. My twins were so cute. Thank you. Did she have kids? Yes, her youngest was 17. Unremarkable, except that Black Scrubs looked to be about 36. Oh, that’s cool. Young mother, probably inspired by an Everest College commercial during the “I’ve Tested 13 Men and Still Don’t Know Who My Baby Daddy Is” episode of Maury, went back to school to become a dental assistant. Made something of herself. Good for her.

She wielded a sharp hook. Wait. Were the assistants supposed to have the sharp hook? I thought the doctors were the ones with the sharp hook. She scraped out the packing that the endodontist did. 

When the doctor finally came in, looking all freshly made up with a bedazzled jewel clip in her long, strawberry blond hair, she pulled the drill out of the lineup of shiny, terrifying instruments dangling from a plastic tray table. Shit, the drill. Shit shit shit. Um I’d forgotten about this part. They needed to shave my tooth shell down to a stump to put the crown on. 

Dr. Sucksdicks applied the drill to my tooth while Black Scrubs held a water pick with one hand and a suction tube with the other. With every passing second of the high-pitched squeal of the drill, my ankles tightened, my breathing shallowed, my fingers curled into gnarled hooks of anxiety. Maybe I should have saved that other Xanax for this. What is she doing? Why is this taking so long? Ugh. What was that, Doctor? Turn my head toward Black Scrubs? Why, can’t you see well? Turn head, open mouth wider to make sure she can see the tooth. Black Scrubs, you’re getting a little energetic with that water there. Is something wrong? Is the drill on fire? Shit, why does it smell like burning tires in here? Oh sweet Jesus, she just drilled so hard that the drill stopped. That can’t be good. Drills only stop when there’s something wrong. Maybe she burned the motor out. Maybe I’ll get moved to another room. Why am I in a different room anyway? Is this the room with the the adrenaline shot that they’ll stab through my sternum when my heart seizes up like that one scene in “Pulp Fiction”? Maybe Dr. Sucked Her Way Through Dental School doesn’t know what she’s doing. Doctors don’t wear jewelry in their hair. It’s unprofessional. Turn back toward the doctor? Lady, are you sure you can see?

The doctor and the assistant are having a conversation but I can’t hear any of it over the sound of the drill. What could they possibly be talking about in the middle of this crucial procedure? Why is Black Scrubs laughing? Why is the doctor laughing? Are they talking about my tooth? “Man, look at the shitty job I’m doing on this tooth.” “Yeah, it looks like a Tic Tac!” “I think I’m going to stuff the root with sardines. That’ll really throw her off. She said she has cats, didn’t she?” “Hahaha! Doctor, you are soooooooooo FUNNY!” From the cadence of their voices, I start to believe that Black Scrubs is Dr. Fellatio’s subordinate lesbian lover. She’s saying coy, flirtatious things like “Yes ma’am,” with that bubbly emphasis on the “ma’am” that suggests clandestine weekend  shopping trips to Restoration Hardware and Ikea in the next town over so no one recognizes them, because their relationship would definitely be interpreted as a conflict of interest and possibly sexual harrassment if things got all “Fatal Attraction,” which I could totally imagine since Black Scrubs obviously had a child young because of deep-seated Daddy issues.

Ugh. Why is she still drilling? Can’t they tell I’m getting freakin’ lockjaw? Turn back toward the assistant? Jesus H. Christ, will you make up your mind? Can you please quit squirting water into my sinuses? Shit, the drill stopped again. I need this tooth stump, Doc. You know this. Holy shit, why is the assistant suctioning something in the middle of my tongue? Oh God, she must suctioning up a chunk of tooth. Crap, my freakin’ tooth is gone. There’s no going back. I have to pee. I should have gone pee before we got started. I hope this doesn’t take much longer. The ole Kegel muscles ain’t what they used to be. I think I just leaked. Should’ve worn a pantyliner. Shit. Burning tires. I smell burning tires again. Come on, Doc, lay off the drill. Why is there shit spraying on my forehead? What the hell kind of dentistry is this?!? You have nice tilework out front! You’re supposed to be a good dentist!!!

Finally, the drilling was done. Black Scrubs squirted something awful-tasting on my tooth then stuffed my mouth with gauze. “I’m just going to stuff some gauze in here because this stuff tastes really bad. It’ll stop the oozing. Your tissues are oozing.”

My tissues. Are oozing. Sob.

The doctor and assistant proceeded to take 3D photos of my tooth. I shit you not. The data would be translated to the milling machine to magically make a crown to fit my Tic Tac tooth. They sent me to the waiting room while my crown was milled on site, on demand. Neat. 

After an hour, the receptionist informed me that they were having problems with the milling machine and could I come back later that afternoon? Wow, really? Problems with the machine? That didn’t sound good. 

And it wasn’t. Four hours later, at 5 p.m. on a Friday, I was called back to the office. Dr. Fellatio put the crown on top of my tooth stump and it was immediately apparent that it didn’t fit. 

Dammit.

Fortunately, they’re taking me in on Sunday so I don’t have to worry about childcare. Unfortunately, the temporary crown they put on has already broken into a billion pieces and I’m chewing overcooked pasta with swollen gums and a smudge of white bone that used to be a tooth.