Recently, my husband and I did something that neither of us has done in years. We went to the dentist. It was high time, too. He'd not been since his one and only visit at age 18, and I'd not been since I had my wisdom teeth out at 17, and even then I was overdue for a cleaning.
I kind of had a traumatic experience last time I went to the dentist. For one thing, I woke up during the surgery. I was just doped up enough to not be able to communicate by any other means than blinking and groaning. It must've worked, though, because they did knock me back out. But I was left with long-lasting effects of my nightmarish trip, a hidden disability that I live with to this day: I have no feeling on the left side of my tongue. I've since learned to live with it, but it sure was pesky for the first year or so. It was very hard to talk, because my tongue would keep creeping and spreading over to the left side of my mouth, and I would accidentally bite it all the time.
I've known for a while that I've needed to drag my half-dead tongue back to the dentist. Not only has it been hurting when I eat, but I have developed a sort of canyon in one of my back teeth, along with various other little chasms. Little pieces of my teeth just crumble off in my mouth on a regular basis. I've been scared to go to a dentist, because I've been afraid they would yell at me for the poor state of my teeth and for not flossing consistently.
I've been trying to reverse years of dental neglect for the 2-3 months before my appointment. I flossed religiously and began using a new mouthwash, hoping I could fill up my cavities with fluoride. I guess it worked, because the anti-climactic end to this mundane story is that no one yelled at me, and I had no cavities.
The End
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