I Dislike Dentists

And no, that is not another alliteration to quell my sad addiction. I do, truthfully, dislike dentists.

Okay. That was too general and stereotypical. I don’t dislike droves of dentists, just a decent amount.

Sorry.

In the past few months, I have had a double root canal, got crowns, and gotten a filling, and after each and every visit without fail, I went home feeling like a train ran over my mouth.

I actually take care of my teeth! I brush and floss on the daily, but does that matter? Do I get any credit for making a decent effort to be clean? Do I get to be saved from absolute, torturous and mortifyingly obvious agony? No.

And another thing. Why does the needle for anesthesia have to be so big and ominous? You basically just filled up a lab testing tube, stuck a huge needle on it and shoved it into my mouth. And your big intro for your anxiety inducing weapon of minor destruction is a request to take multiple breaths?

I wasn’t aware that I had stopped breathing, Sweeney Todd.

I have Type 1 Diabetes. I’m very good with taking shots and needles, because I take at least four a day, but this is not just a needle. This is a spear specifically designed to make you pay in blood, sweat and tears for doing the unthinkable action of attempting to gain immunity from possible pain.

So essentially, they’re giving us pain to save us from pain caused by something that was already painful.

Nice.

I wasn’t going to post until later tonight, because it’s my favorite night of the year, but I just had to get this rant out of the way. Plus, this is a really good distraction.

If you haven’t gotten the point I’m making so far, my teeth hurt.

A lot.

Curses.

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