Well, sports fans… gitchyseff a cup of coffee or a beer, depending on the time of day where you are…
I didn’t go through with starting the implant process. In fact, I left the dentist’s office in something of a huff with my mouth numb (still is).
When I got there, they took me right away and the assistant sprayed the pre-shot stuff in my mouth. The dentist came in and gave me a couple of shots and explained the procedure step by step. Then he came back to check on the numbness, and it wasn’t quite ready. So he gave me a couple more shots, and one of them went right into a nerve. Involuntarily and reflexively, I yelped and jumped. When he pulled the needle out, I said, “Now I’m going to have to cry for a bit.” So sue me: something hurts like the devil, I cry. I’m not someone who ever chokes back tears. (The same thing happened when I had my lumpectomy and someone did a thing called “wire localization.” Look it up. Holy freaking shit-- THAT HURT. I burst into tears then, too.)
So he left and I took a few minutes and cried. I sobbed, actually. Quietly, so as not to scare the other patients. But I sobbed for a good five minutes into my hanky. It helped a lot with the tension in my body overall.
After about 15 minutes the whole side of my face was totally numb. I was ready to get the show on the road. I waited. And waited. After a while the assistant came in and asked how I was. I said, “I’m totally numb and ready to get on with it.” He said, “We’ll be in in two minutes.”
FORTY MINUTES LATER, the dentist came in and sat down and asked how I was doing. I said, “Everything is totally numb, let’s continue.”
And then, oddly, he became the opposite of reassuring. Even though I’ve had an implant, and had a tooth pulled and was not a newbie to the process, he started running through how much of an ordeal lay ahead, how if he started to pull the tooth, and there was a problem he might have to inject some more anesthetic, and that down the road (4 months down the road) when he put in the screw, I’d need more anesthetic… it was very weird, telling me all that might go wrong and how awful it would be even if things didn’t go wrong.
I got very annoyed. Here I had (as they say in 19th century British novels) “screwed my courage to the sticking point” and was ready to go, and here he was waffling and undermining my resolve. I said, “I’m halfway up Mt. Everest, and I don’t want to go back to base camp and have to climb to this point again.”
He babbled some more about, “If you’re ready and you know what you’re getting into” and stuff along those lines. There wasn’t an ounce of confidence or reassurance in his words or demeanor.
Finally, I stood up, took off the paper bib, and said, “I’m leaving,” and walked out the front door.
This is the practice where I had my other implant [which I am VERY happy with!] and a tooth pulled and several crowns, etc. The principal dentist of the practice who did that work retired last year. I had a lot of confidence in him, and he projected confidence. He was a man in my age range and a retired naval officer. I guess you could say I had a boatload of confidence in him.
I cried on him one time, too-- he was going to take an impression of my upper teeth that necessitated sticking a spatula-like object coated with plastic goo into my mouth. I burst into tears and said I couldn’t do it. Without batting an eye, he said, “Okay, no problem. Come back another time.” I left and came back the following week and it was fine.
Upon reflection, I think this Very Young Dentist wanted me to leave. I think my crying truly frightened him, and he was afraid I might become hysterical and cause a scene if everything did not go perfectly during the tooth removal. I think he was immensely relieved (and maybe a little embarrassed) when I walked out. I know I feel relieved. Being in the dentist’s chair is one of the most vulnerable and helpless places you can be. Especially if you have an early childhood history of very bad dental experiences.
I need to find another dentist. I’m back to wavering between implant and bridge, now leaning toward bridge. I just talked to a very close friend from high school, and like many of you, she’s had a bridge for a long time and has never had a problem with it.
The end. For now.