Friday, September 23, 2011

A new experience for the Queen

Usually my dental exams consist of a cleaning, lying to the hygienist about how often I floss and the dentist checking me at the end and saying "see ya in six months" and we all part our ways.  Not this time. Perhaps this is part of my "being Sixty" experience?  I was informed I needed a root canal.

It must have been the sudden loss of blood from my face or the wide eyed look of horror in my eyes because suddenly the hygienist was talking double time to calm me down.  Then they made a referral for me to see a specialist.

And I didn't even have the appropriate amount of time to adjust to the idea - the appointment was in a couple of days...namely this morning!

I have a deep seated fear of the dentist from childhood experiences of my old dentist probing into my mouth with giant hairy fingers.  When he retired I went to his son, who took over his practice, and perhaps he was a good dentist but he also had fingers that went everywhere when he'd "drop an instrument in my lap, etc.  Thank goodness I never had to be under the influence of laughing gas with him or I may have become a young mother.

So, this specialist is a woman and I've heard she's very good...but I'm still nervous despite my friends telling me it's not so bad.  It's a mystery to me what all goes on inside my mouth.  I mean, if I can't even control the words coming out of am I supposed to understand what goes on beneath the surface?

And on top of that horror they told me what the cost was and that insurance wouldn't cover it.  Yikes!  I could buy a very nice new sewing machine with that kind of cash...or redo an entire garden bed with new plants.  This is not how I want to spend my money.  But, I guess it's like they gotta put your money where your mouth is.

Long Live the Tooth Fairy...and the Queen.

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