An ode to my dentist

What? Can this be true? Me, who swore eternal hatred with the passion of a thousand macro-quasars to all dentists be writing a blog about my dentist? It's true, folks. I might be ready to bury the hatchet.

It all started about two years ago, when I was pregnant with Hank. I knew we were moving and would be losing dental insurance, so we decided to go get a check up. In his infinite wisdom Dr. Saddam Hitler, DDS told me that I would need "special drugs" while undergoing 2 root canals. It was a nightmare. The experience was about 12x worse than childbirth. I swore I would never see another dentist ever again.

So my tooth starting hurting a few weeks ago. Since my favorite coping method is denial, I simply took my aspirin, avoided cold drinks, and sucker-punched Shane whenever he brought it up.

But it got worse, so I scheduled my appointment with a friend of mine (I didn't know he was a dentist at the time...and to think that we Bunco'd together!) and went in Wednesday morning. Of course, it indeed was bad enough to need another root canal. (BTW, I do brush my teeth regularly. I think its my love affair with diet Pepsi that did me in).

So I seriously starting tearing up right there in the office, and I begged Jared just to rip my tooth out. He assured me that I really didn't want that but to help me out he would give me drugs that would make me quite relaxed and loopy. Since we were both leaving that weekend, I had to come back in that day for the procedure.

I don't remember much of what happened next, but I am sure that I was quite composed and sensible as I always am. As loopy as I was, I still realized that Marianne could probably take me down Pocatello style, or I would have goosed Jared right there and then. He was kind and professional, and put my mind at ease when I was facing a terrifying if a bit irrational fear.

Thanks so much Jared. You have redeemed your profession in my eyes. (PS...I really think Bunco would be more fun if you brought some of those drugs next time. )