1.12.2012

woe is my mouth.

When my dentist reenters the room and reassures me by saying, “I just drank half a Red Bull—I’m ready to take down this root canal!” you know my first thought is: Yes. This is exactly how I wanted to end my day.

At my last visit to the dentist’s office, the assistant numbed the lower half of my mouth and I literally couldn’t speak without slurring. Unfortunately, slurring led to giggling; at one point, the background jam of “I like it when you call me Big Papa, throw ya hands in the aya…” sent me into a peal of laughter which paused her work nothing shy of three times.

So today, when my dentist decides halfway through the drilling/pressing/pain that this is an excellent time for small talk, I’m a little wary. He asks me about teaching, and I respond with “UNNHHH….” While I had rather hoped this would translate to, “Why are you asking me questions when you can clearly see the jaw-jacking hockey puck between my teeth?” I’m afraid the grunt came across as, “Ask away!” A series of questions later, I lie in the chair and wonder how much fun this conversation can really be, considering that all of my answers are various pairings of sound and noncommittal waves of the hand.

Time passes to the beat of pop and country hits, all of which are relatively enjoyable (with the exception of “Red Solo Cup.” Why, oh why, was that song written?). The attack on my poor little mouth aside, I was honestly pretty comfortable. They even left the heavy x-ray bathmat across me so I could keep warm. My numb mouth made me feel a bit like Scar’s tongue-lolling pal Ed, but they did supply me with sunglasses to wear...at night...indoors. Quite the experience.

The good news is, I should be able to chew on the right side of my mouth again, a habit six months absentee. How I managed to use only my left side, with the occasional test of mashed potato pressure on the right, is beyond me. I’d like to think of this as accomplishment, along with my choice to skip writing for a year and a half, and then post this.

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