For the love of God. Floss.
Tuesday, Jan. 14, 2003 @ 9:43 p.m.
For the love of God, Floss.
Do you floss your teeth every day? No? Start. Please, do it for me. I don't want you to have to go through what I just went through*.
This morning I had three between-the-teeth cavities filled. Holy crap, it sucked so bad. Mostly it sucked because I had a really bad reaction to the anesthetic, which included faintness, dizziness, nausea, cold sweats, the works. It was the weirdest thing, the minute that shit hit my system it was like: "BRAIN! EMERGENCY! NERVOUS SYSTEM! EMERGENCY! ALL HANDS ON DECK, PREPARE TO FREAK OUT!"
I think I flipped out the dental hygienist** because she kept asking me questions and I was too busy trying not to pass out and/or puke to answer her. The dentist? Totally unfazed. He just glanced at me and said "let's just give her a few minutes to relax before we start". Thanks, dude.
Honestly though, 20 minutes later I was totally fine, except for the drilling and the jaw-ache and the sqeeeeeegggg noise that the filling part of the filling makes. Also, when you have between-the-teeth-because-you-don't-floss cavities, they have to put a metal ring around your tooth before they can fill it. Comfy!
Hahaha, halfway through the drilling he came at me with that damn syringe again and when I asked if it was the same stuff (you know, the stuff that almost made me hork all over your office 20 minutes ago?) he said yes, but I'd be fine this time, as he'd probably just gotten a little in a vein before. Well, fucking fantastic. Go at it then. I am fine and thankfully it's over, but I'll be flossing from here on in. You do it too, okay?
* Oh, shut up. I know it's just a few cavities, but when you have a dental history like mine, you fear and loathe it all. I'm talking about having eight (you heard me) teeth pulled as a child. I'm talking four-fucking-years of braces, with headgear. That's not even counting the retainer era. I have reason to complain.
** Girl, the hygienist? A Talker. Yap, yap, yap. Man, she found her dream job because she can talk her heart out to a captive audience of one who can't answer back. I heard all about her old car (Bronco w/ 233K miles) her new car (PT Cruiser), her new puppy, why she was late this morning (Wal-Mart return) her husband and her kids. In that order. I said Goddamn.
Bongos, Bass & Bob wrote a song called Oral Hygiene!
PS. If you're one of the three people who read this journal, you can enter your email address in that little notify box down below and I'll send you an email when I update. Isn't that nice? Don't you love me? You wouldn't want to make me cry by not putting your email address in the little box, would you? I didn't think so.
Now, do it.