The Ship of Expectations

Dentist:  (Wikipedia) - a medical professional who is concerned with the study, diagnosis, and                         treatment of conditions of the teeth and the oral cavity.
                (Urban Dictionary) - A rich chap that sticks needles in your gums, wrenches around all                   your teeth, drills holes in your teeth, and bruises your face to fuck. Then he charges you                 loads of money. 

So finally - after six plus years - I go to a local dentist here in Vacation City.  There are four main professionals that are going to be important in your life - M.D., eye doctor, dentist, and car mechanic, with the car guy being, by far the most important.  Any hack with an off-shore medical degree can diagnose cancer but you can only trust someone with a great deal of integrity to take care of your car.  One of the great traumas about moving is replacing men and women in these four categories, especially if you've got good relationships in your previous location.  I continued to coordinate trips back to The Old City with trips to my dentist because I'm more suspicious of dentists than anyone else.  If I break my arm or get a rash in my groin I can see the shit - inside the mouth, not so much.  This is the great ace in the hole for dentists - you cannot see what they're doing in there so unless you're wracked with obvious dental pain you're pretty much at their mercy.

I have been blessed with a remarkable physical plant.  I don't have any major diseases, conditions, syndromes, or large unnamed growths on any of my internal organs, but my mouth has been problematic, despite rigorous brushing and flossing and rinsing.  I've had a good four year run without any mouth work so I wasn't too surprised when I got a whole shitload of bad news when I saw this guy.

Generally, I don't trust anyone who isn't giving me candy or money so my immediate reaction is to assume that I'm being SCREWED!  Some guy that I don't know from Adam looks in my mouth and finds a bunch of stuff that needs to be fixed, and it's going to be expensive.  What am I going to say?  I disagree - that's not a cavity, you crook?  God forbid I trust someone to do what's in my best interest.  I'd prefer to prescribe shadowy, mercenary motives to their actions.  

"Boy, Mr. Seaweed, you have a bad Johnson Rod in your right lateral bicuspid."  I may indeed.  Who's to know?  I considered becoming a dentist just so I could dispute any bad news that my dentist might give me.  I'd be the dentist looking in the mirror and fixing my own cavities so that I wouldn't have to pay a money-grubbing dentist any money.

So my first appointment is to fix a cavity.  Fair enough, until the guy adds the disclaimer that it may require a Root Canal but he won't know until he starts the work a few days hence.  This gives me some time to assume the worst, to project terrible outcomes.  Root Canal.  Root Canal.  Rooooooooooot Canal.  When I'm afraid of bad news I start repeating a simple prayer that, in this case, sounded something like this: "Dear Jeebus, I'd rather just have a cavity here and not a root canal, but I'll be okay with whatever shakes out."  This way I get to pray for what I want while pretending to turn all of my roots and canals over to his or her care, an action I am definitely not doing.

I add to the mix of discomfort by noticing some weird feelings in the one other tooth that also needs work that may lead to a Root Canal.  I run my tongue over this area repeatedly to see if I can make the symptoms worse, thus justifying additional fear.

I ruin a few days before righting the Ship of Expectations - sometimes the prayers don't take right away.  Finally, the day of my appointment arrives and the dentist doesn't find root problems. I'm happy - because I got what I wanted - and I'm mortified - because I wasted a few of my rapidly dwindling days worrying about something that didn't come to pass.  Let's also point out that almost everything I worry about doesn't come to pass.

But then the guy kind of intimates that while everything went well if I notice any symptoms then we'll come up with a revised plan of action, thereby ruining everything.  Why did he have to say this?  He totally re-opened the door to Bad Expectations.  He made me worry about a Root Canal, didn't find any root problems, then left the Root Canal door open a teeny weeny bit.  "What's the matter with you?" I wanted to shriek.   "Slam the fucking door!"

After the Novocaine wears off - and Novocaine is way, way up there on my Gratitude List - my teeth and gums sort of hurt.  I assume this is a delayed reaction to whatever problem is going to lead to a Root Canal except now it's going to be an emergency, after-hours, weekend Root Canal.  I'm vaguely aware that most people would chalk some discomfort up to the fact that I had a guy digging around in my sensitive oral mucous membranes with stainless steel needles, but I'm definitely not most people.

Compounding my fear is that I notice if I blow on the affected area or chew some hard seeds or nuts on that side of my mouth or drink freezing, icy drinks, or sip scalding hot coffee - boiling hot - then the pain is worse.  I also assume this is a sign of the emergency Root Canal.  I wander around in public sucking air in and out over my front teeth like some kind of deranged animal.  I must look like a mountain ape protecting my territory from a rival.  I look like I'm getting ready to attack, to blow.

On day two all sensitivity is gone.  Also, in a humorous turn, the second tooth that may need a Root Canal is on the opposite side of my face from where I was probing with my tongue.  I'm guessing that any pain or sensitivity in that area came from irritating the gums by repeatedly probing the area with my tongue.

And I wonder why I drank.

P.S.: Root Canal would be an excellent name for a rock band.
P.S.S.: I bought a T-shirt that says simply: Root Canal.  Really.  Urban Dictionary allows you to put whatever phrase or word you want on a shirt and they'll print it up for you.