Does anyone like going to the dentist?
I ask this as someone who was in the chair for about 90 minutes today in what I thought was supposed to be the final visit of three to get a crown replaced. It was supposed to be 30 minutes, not 90. There wasn’t supposed to be any numbing or drilling, yet there was. And “final” got tossed out of the conversation early, so I’ll be back soon to try it again.
Not to mention that the re-scheduling and yet another try is now messing around with my schedule to get to Chicago for Worldcon in two weeks. Gee, which would I prefer to do, be back in the dentist chair or be at Worldcon in Chicago? Tough one, I know.
That got me to thinking about the “common knowledge” that being a dentist makes your stistical chance of committing suicide skyrocket. Is that true? It certainly seems to make sense, but it may or may not be.
More critical to me is the impression that every time I visit the dentist because something has started to hurt, it seems to hurt worse when I leave and never seems to get better at all even through two or three (or four!) follow up visits and procedures. It’s only after I lie on that last follow up and say, “SURE! FEELS GREAT! NO PAIN AT ALL! 😁” that it finally starts feeling a bit better in the following weeks.
Or maybe that’s just me.
With luck tomorrow will be a better day. No dentist, less pain.
Maybe I’ll write something. (I’m writing something.) Maybe there’s a good surpise waiting. (There’s a good surprise waiting.)
Maybe the dentist karma thing is the payment I need to make to pay my dues as an artist. (What a crock!)
For now, some more Extra Strength Excedrin or maybe even a couple Tylenol PM.
If my dentist truly loved me, she would give me some of the really good painkillers. She didn’t. She doesn’t. I’ll muddle through. But I won’t be chipper and cheerful about it!