Root Canal

NOT the way you want to spend a gorgeous evening in July. But, ah me, it must be done. I sure don't want to end up in agony. I like my doctor from Poland. She is young and filled with confidence. Today I have an intern observing, a serious young man with a heavy accent though I can't for the life of me think where he might be from.



We begin. First, the shots of Novocaine. Here's a unique sensation - one on the roof of my mouth! Owie. She swears I will thank her later. The drilling and fussing and poking seem endless. Finally we go for the xray. I have one of those silly rubber dams blocking off my face. I am sure the other patients cowered in fear as I wander past their chairs, Frankenstein-like. We have to wait for a room to be vacated. I sit, drool slopping down my cheek, despite the paper towel the doctor thoughtfully provided.



They snap the dam off my lips, cram the film and holder into my tiny orifice, step around the corner and push the button. Done. Reattach dam, walk back to the chair. The dentist fusses with stuff, waiting for the xray. It comes with the intern, a hurried discussion - not whispered but not meant for my ears. I hear them anyways. Crap. A second root. 99.99% of the people in the world only have one root in this tooth. I get to be the lucky .01% with a second canal.



The intern desserts us, the dentist begins the whole process again, digging around for the illusive second root. I feel the Novocaine wearing off. No pain, just that I can feel her probing around, filing the root with some sort of saw thing, my jaw aching from being held open for so long. The hygienist has to leave us as well. We are alone, persevering. I hear them page my dentist. Her next appointment has arrived. No break for her! One more xray, OK. Go home now. Come again.



I know enough to take some ibuprofen right away. I am right about that. Well, thank God for dentists and anaesthesia and insurance. But let's not do this again real soon.