the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

So I went into the dentist Thursday morning with a tooth that's been, well, hot- and cold- and pressure-sensitive for a while now. You seasoned vets out there know what this means, right? Root Canal City. Many years back--probably at Vandenberg as a second lieutenant--I had a lot of dental work done, thanks to finally having dental insurance. When the filling went in, I was shown a picture of it and reassured that I would someday need a root canal on it, as the filling was enormous, even then. I suppose I should be impressed that it lasted this long. 

So anyway...at my "sick call" dentist visit Thursday morn, my lovely dentist--I don't recall anything about him or her, weirdly--tapped around in there and decided that I did truly have a sick tooth. There were x-rays involved, as well. As fate would have it (lucky me!) their endodontist had an opening at 1300 that day. The dentist pumped a little painkiller into my cheek and palate and sent me on my way. I returned dutifully at 1300. 

My endodontist (Maj/Dr Ray) had a bit of difficulty in determining which tooth was troubling me, thanks to the painkiller, so he pulled out an instrument from the deepest pits of Norse hell to double-check. I think this wicked thing is calibrated at absolute zero. He first touched the tooth I had thought it was. This was quite uncomfortable. He touched the next tooth, which made me do a back bend in the dental chair. Then he touched the back tooth (I believe it is attractively referred to as "#14"). They had to pry me off the ceiling. 

"Ah!" Sez he. "That's the one, all right. And...sorry about that. I'm just not comfortable proceeding until I am confident that I have the right tooth." I readily admit that it's a great idea to make sure you aren't, say, sawing off the wrong foot, but the end does not justify the means. 

At this point, I said, "No problem," as the pain was quickly receding to almost-bearable. I then told him, that while I had just been shot up before lunch, I would need a lot more painkiller: "Before I have dental work," said I, "I usually have to get to the point where I cannot feel my nose, my earlobe, or my Adam's apple." 

To my complete surprise, he took me at my word, y'all. Now...I've had a decent amount of dental work done, including a couple of root canals, about four fillings, and a non-anesthetized wisdom tooth extraction when I was 18,* and this is the first time any dentist or endodontist believed me when I told them this. The usual chain of events is this: I tell them I need their max dosage of Novocain (or whatever they use these days). They give me the minimal dosage, insert the dental dam, and hit the tooth with the drill. I come from together. They remove the dam, inject another millimeter of painkiller (which I can feel), reinsert the dental dam, and try again. I scream. They go again, this time--because they're tired of the drill, as am I**--they take me seriously, and fill me up until one of my eyes is blinking lazily. 

* Remind me to tell y'all this story someday. We suffer not to build character, but to have funny stories to grow old with. 

** See what I did there?

Dr. Ray, though? He instantly pumped me so full of magical fluids that he numbed a frontal cortex. 

Praise be. 

Then he told his dental assistant--I believe she is SSgt Cook--"We're going to do this quick while it's still good and numb." He put on some good tunes (The Killers, a group out of Las Vegas, which he told me all about while I was prostrate and dammed), snapped his gloves on, and was in and out in less than 30 minutes. I have never had such a slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am root canal in my life. I wanted to kiss him (but I wouldn't have felt a thing and probably would have drooled a bit). 

They set up an appointment for this morning at 0830 and released me into the wild. I dropped by my office to pick up my grading, since I didn't intend to hang around and didn't need to, particularly since I spoke with a discernible slur. 

(And looked like a stroke victim. I think my nose itched, but I couldn't be sure.)

As fate would have it, one of my students was waiting to see me (albeit without an appointment, but no matter). He just wanted an extension on his paper, which I was happy to grant. (I'm a pushover like that, but only if the student is professional enough to come see me before the paper is due and respectfully request some extra time--probably because my best bosses have been pushovers like that, which I so greatly appreciate.) 

I sat down, checked a little email, gathered my stuff, and went home. 

By the way...you remember those days they would give you seriously-I'm-not-kidding painkillers after a root canal? No longer. This guy offered to prescribe me 800mg Motrin (more popularly known in the military as "Vitamin M" due to its ubiquity), which I already had a bucket of at home. I politely declined. 

I went to work the next day--the last day of school--only because I couldn't bear to not say goodbye to my kids. I was lachrymose and, well, a walking pincushion, but I wouldn't have it any other way. The next morning when I awoke, I felt like someone had punched me in the face. 

My first thought, being me, was, "Well...did someone punch me in the face?"

Then I remembered the root canal. 

I had a good, lazy weekend, eating a lot of soft foods (or just drinking my calories). The pain subsided. The last two days were filled with grading. Only the first day was painful.* 

* Grading-wise, I mean. At this point in the semester, I put all my papers from each course into order from lowest GPA to highest, and start at the bottom. This way, I deal with the worst immediately, while I'm still fresh, and I can reasonably expect each paper to get better as I go. Also? For grades C- and below, we must create portfolios with all the cadet's work, how many times they were absent and why, any correspondence/extenuating circumstances, and reasons for our judgment on their final grade. The portfolio goes up through our chain of command; this ensures a fair court that protects all involved. 

Anyhow. This morning I went for the next phase of the root canal. I was early. Dr. Ray and SSgt Cook awaited me. It didn't go quite as smoothly as the last experience. I told him I'd checked out The Killers (and some of my Facebook friends told me that they loved the Killers, had been following them for years, and I was like, "Why don't y'all share this stuff with me? Haven't I trained you to share great literature and music?"). I added, randomly, that we were going to Las Vegas for the holidays and had several shows on tap. He brought in an album by Brandon Flowers, the lead singer of The Killers (who originated in Vegas), for our enjoyment while he worked. 

So...they didn't figure I needed quite as much numbing agent since the tooth was no longer inflamed. Sadly, the tooth--albeit rootless--still had feeling. We discovered this after the insertion of the dental dam and jaw block* etc, when he happened to dip one of those little springy drill dealies into the wrong canal. My reaction was a surprise to all involved. 

* Despite dentists blowing off my heartfelt pleas for max Novocain, my worst dental experiences remain those I had before I was introduced to the jaw block--a rubber square they insert between your teeth opposite the teeth they want to work on so you can relax your jaw. Before then, my dental experiences were awful because simply keeping my jaw open wide enough for a dentist to work was excruciating. Since the jaw block, I've actually fallen asleep during root canals, y'all. 

He paused respectfully, then pumped more painkiller directly into the tooth itself without removing that attractive dental dam. 

While he worked, he chatted with SSgt Cook and with me. The conversation was quite awesome. Dr. Ray is a reader, as is SSgt Cook. They are also appreciators of art. Dr. Ray talked about going to the latest Denver Art Museum exhibit--apparently, there was an awesome Van Gogh exhibit there last year. Then he switched to what he's been reading lately. He's stuck in Carl Sagan's works right now; he was late to discovered the famed scientist, but has since buried himself in all things Sagan. He read Hawking's A Brief History of Time simply because he's curious about it (as did I :) ). He wrote to Dr. Cook (aka Col Cook, the Dept. Head of Philosophy, a fantastic man) for a list of good philosophy books to read, and has been working his way through the list. He's interested in the clash between science and religion, and reads opposing viewpoints on it. 

Seriously? This is a man I could totally hang with. 

Then there was SSgt Cook, who said she's been dating lately and she arranged to meet one young man at The Tattered Cover Bookstore* in Denver. She asked him if he liked to read, and he said, "Not really." ...And that was automatically their last date. Dr. Ray congratulated her on her "litmus test." I approve, as well, of course. :)

* It's an institution, y'all. The most awesome bookstore I've ever been to. I'm tickled to learn that it's still there and thriving. 

Speaking of which...this is a terrific slam-poetry video I was recently introduced to, which was quickly followed by my subjecting my students to it. Generally...they loved it. Check it:

Randomly, Dr. Ray would stop and ask me questions, like, "Going to Vegas, huh? I went there for my honeymoon, 18 years ago. Are you going to see Celine Dion?"

I really wanted to answer this, as Celine Dion was my primary choice and I'm upset that she is gone for the holidays. The nerve! I think I gargled something in reply. 

I was tipped back at an impossible angle so he could reach #14. Also, I occasionally felt the urge to contribute to the conversation. These are what I think led to the gagging attack. This was a first for me. Most unpleasant. They removed the block, sat me up, suctioned me, then left me to weep quietly into my bib for a couple of minutes before they continued. I thus learned to shut up and just breathe through my nose, no matter how engaging the conversation might be. 

In the course of time, Dr. Ray discovered a fourth previously undiscovered canal in my tooth, which required more drilling and digging. 

Thus, today's dental experience was worse than the last, but somehow better. Physically, I got the payback for the ease of the first go-round last week. Whatever could go wrong today went wrong. At the same time, I felt that I was among my own. After Dr. Ray finished, I asked him if he ever read fiction. He said, "Not much. My brother recently gave me a Dan Brown novel." 

Me: There is better fiction.

To be fair, I've read Dan Brown's stuff, and The DiVinci Code was interesting (his first book, Angels and Demons, needed a better editor, though). But Dan Brown's work is not what I'd call good fiction; it's fun fiction. Dr. Ray said, "I recently read Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man." I admitted to not having read it, but after having read bits of Ulysses,* I decided I didn't wish to subject myself to James anymore. 

* There is a hell, people.

He asked if I had any recommendations. Of course, I suggested Patchett's Bel Canto. :D Particularly since he'd just asked me about the book I had with me: Fred Plotkin's Opera 101: A Complete Guide to Learning and Loving Opera. (I'm sorry to say I haven't had time to get into it and have too many other things I need to read over the holidays to keep it, but what I did read of it was interesting and worthwhile.) He made a note on his palm. I'll be interested to learn what he thinks of it. 

This is a friendship I shall pursue, if only online. What an interesting chap!

And now...that thing I've put off long enough: grading. 

Y'all be excellent to one another. ;)

d