I had to go to the dentist today to have a broken tooth pulled and in the days leading up to this I alternated between dread and a barely concealed anxiousness. By last night I was resigned to it. I told myself it would be whatever it would be, and that one way or another I would get through it. After all, it’s been a summer of high anxiety and I reasoned this was really the least of my problems.
I woke up this morning with my level of dread at an even five. Then I received a phone call that sent my anxiety to an accelerated level. BREATHE! Just breathe. I went to the dentist with my phone and earbuds in hand. I warned the oral surgeon that it was my plan to crank up my Spotify playlist and try to believe I was anywhere but where I was. He told me to crank away, but not before feeling the need to describe in excruciating detail all of the pulling, cutting, and scraping of bone he would need to do. Then they took my blood pressure and gee, it was high.
Apparently not high enough to get me out of this though.
I now had a dread/anxiety level of 750 at the very least. I put in my earbuds while they swabbed that preliminary gel they give you right before shooting you full of Novocaine, and then came the shots. I was relieved that they weren’t nearly as bad as sometimes, and yet once they walked away to give the Novocaine time to work, my hand began shaking. BREATHE! The surgeon returned and I cranked my music, closed my eyes and hoped for the best.
It was over in less than three songs! I was stunned. It had taken longer to explain than it had to do the entire procedure. Now I have a mouth full of gauze but it’s over and I am so grateful that it’s gone as smoothly as it has. Still, I’m not looking forward to ever having to go back!