June 3, 2008
Acci-Dental
Yesterday, I mentioned that I had to see my dentist. For the record, going to the dentist scares me. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been freaked out about the fact that I have to keep my mouth open for long durations while someone sticks his or her fingers and metal dentistry tools in my mouth.
I’d rather give birth, or worse, clean out a refrigerator full of rotten food, than have a teeth cleaning or any kind of dental work. Don’t get me wrong, I know this is a necessary part of personal hygiene, so I stick it out and get it done.
Last month, I broke a filling that was originally put in when I was in junior high, well over 15 years ago. It was one of those old school silver fillings that typically only last 10 years, so mine was due for a replacement five years ago. Since my dentist is a student of new age dentistry, both preventative and cosmetic (he has a degree or something from the fancy-schmancy school of dentistry in Las Vegas — or so I read on his wall certificate), I had a consult to replace all of the old fillings in my mouth.
There are a total of four. I could kick myself for drinking Mountain Dew as a teenager. It didn’t matter that I brushed my teeth 80 times a day (my mother was a nag about dental hygiene, she still calls me occasionally to ask if I’m brushing my teeth), that shit is toxic for tooth enamel. (And smoking is toxic! Thank goodness I quit.)
Now normally I go to my appointments alone, but we had a conflict with Doug’s work schedule and it was too late to drive Dawson to daycare before my appointment, so I took him with me. If anything, it would be a good way to introduce him to the dentist so that he won’t be scared when it’s his turn for a teeth cleaning. It was a good idea in theory.
We arrived on time, and the very nice receptionist checked me in. I had brought a coloring book and crayons to keep Dawson occupied for the one hour appointment, and since my dentist is a bajillionaire (he’s the best doctor in town), he has televisions with cable in every exam room and so Dawson was able to watch Spongebob. My son sat in a little kiddie chair in the corner, right next to my dental chair.
The first 30 minutes of the appointment were fine. I tried to stay calm while Dr. M drilled away, but then suddenly I felt a stab in my tongue. I winced with pain. I thought for sure I was poked with a dental pick. My dentist apologized, said my “nosy tongue” got pinched by whatever metal tool he was using to put the new filling in. I could taste blood and I thought for sure I was going to vomit, because I began gagging.
The very nice dental assistant did a quick rinse-and-suction, while Dr. M put Ora-Sav on the cut to help it heal. However, Dawson knew I was in pain because I had tears rolling down my cheek.
“What are you doing to my mommy? Don’t hurt my mommy!” he yelled.
Imagine me, mouth numb and wide open trying to soothe my child with a cheery gurgle-hum-combination. It wasn’t pretty. The dentist had to stop what he was doing so that I could assure my son that I was okay and that I wasn’t in pain. I lied for Dawson’s sake.
“Mommy ih-fwine, weety…ih dun hurt aa all….” I tried to say. I guess I was more numb than I realized, and my tongue really did hurt!
After it was over, I joked with Dr. M, whom I’ve known for years, about my minor injury.
“So, I didn’t know Family Dental Center could perform a Tonguectomy.” I laughed.
“Yeah…but you know the nice thing about tongues is, they grow back.” Dr. M joked back.
All I kept thinking was, they do? I better google this…
After I paid the astronomical bill of $700 (this is AFTER insurance, too), Dawson and I walked slowly to the car.
“Mumma? Are you okay?” Dawson asked.
“Yep. I’m fine.” I said. “See? The dentist isn’t scary!”
I lied to my son, I had to. He will have to go to the dentist eventually. However, my son is no dummy.
“Mumma, I don’t want to go to the dentist. I don’t want him to cut my tongue off like yours!”
Looks like I better stock up on toothpaste and mouthwash, and nag him 80 times a day to brush and rinse, because Dawson may never go to the dentist after of this experience.
RSS feed for comments on this post.
TrackBack URI
June 3rd, 2008 at 12:55 pm, seven Says:
That’s terrible! I hate going to the dentist too. I always end up crying. And $700 AFTER insurance! That would make me cry even if by some miracle the actual dental work didn’t. I don’t know if there’s really a way to not hate going to the dentist. But at least you’re trying…
June 3rd, 2008 at 12:57 pm, Dana Says:
I know. I was sick when the billing girl said that the total bill was $1400 and that insurance would cover half. Ugh. Better than nothing, but still! That’s a lot of money.
June 3rd, 2008 at 3:58 pm, Cheryl Says:
I know the story is about getting your tongue cut off… but we seem to be focusing on the bill. 700? That’s more than a mortgage payment for us. See? This is why we’ve put off going to the dentist. It took us months to pay them off after we got Chris’s mouth fixed (his mom didn’t ride him about it, and he had cavities in his front teeth of all places). We just can’t handle another bill like that. Our medical only paid 90 percent of my vah-jay-jay surgery, and we’ll be paying off our part for the rest of the year. UGH!
I vote for taking Dawson to First Impressions or someplace like that for his first dentist visit. Even if you can’t afford to take him there every time, I hear they do an awesome job making the kids feel comfortable and happy about going to the dentist.
Cheryls last blog post..A Bit of Random Kid Stuff
June 3rd, 2008 at 4:42 pm, Dana Says:
Oh Cheryl, I know…it’s insanely expensive. I still can’t believe that’s after insurance. Ridiculous.
Anything medical is outrageously priced!
June 4th, 2008 at 8:00 am, Amber Says:
Thousands of dollars later, I can finally eat without tooth pain. Believe me, I feel yours. Like Dawson, I may never return again.
Ambers last blog post..Living the Life (and Death) of The Great Pumpkin