Ha! I'm feeling a bit better. The past couple of weeks have been a dental whirlwind and as we've discussed before, I have a severe dentist phobia. I had my first micro-panic attack with stage one but was surprisingly calm with stage two. We'll see how stage three goes.
I have a new dentist who, to be honest, is much better than the last one. He pays attention to my muffled cries of pain and wild-eyed looks of panic. I have regained a sense of control. I like that. Also, remember the old teal spit bib? This one is a putrid shade of lavender which, while not conjuring up calming images of waves on the beach and puppies and duckies, is much better on my nerves.
You know when you're in the chair and the dentist starts a conversation as he (or she) is working on your mouth? I can't tell if that's calming or incredibly frustrating. You're forced to make a strangled noise something like, "Ahhhhuuuh, ahh ohh oo shooool ckkkuhkkkuhkuhkkk." If I had the ability to speak while five hands were shoved in my mouth, I certainly wouldn't be chatting about what school I go to or what I'm doing this weekend. I'd be saying something more along the lines of, "Excuse me, Dr. Pain, Agony? Could you remove that metal shard from my gums? Thanks," or "This method of teeth cleaning seems a little barbaric. Could I have another option?" But no. We are their captive audiences.
And one final note about dental matters. To anyone who is worried about getting their wisdom teeth removed: it is no. big. deal. Beyond coming off of the anestesia (apparently, I cried all the way home. Don't ask me why) it's all totally managable. I haven't needed much of the ibuprofen they gave me and didn't even touch the Vicodin. All that worrying for nothing.