I used to love going to the dentist. I know, I know, all questions regarding my mental stability begin....now.
The thing is, I love that clean, minty fresh feeling and I want to continue my love for the tooth dude. I do adore my actual dentist - awesome, honest, kind, gentle, concerned, great memory...all the things you want from someone who can see everything you've eaten for the past six months plastered all over your mouth.
But the ladies who clean my teefers? AY CARAMBA! Their gentle faces and sweet voices give no foreshadowing of the torture to come. Who knew floss could be a lethal weapon? Ladies, I floss. I really do. Regularly. BUT. Not. Like. That. Isn't it considered a mental disorder if you enjoy inflicting extreme pain upon yourself on a twice-daily basis? Perhaps there is a medical explanation for all of this? I know I have a few dental people reading. Some have told me to floss more, use a certain toothbrush, use a certain mouth wash. I've faithfully devoted myself to trying it all and it hasn't made a hill of beans of a difference in protecting my mouth from the blood bath of a dental visit.
Every time I had the opportunity to close my mouth, all I could taste were the pools of blood forming in every crevice. I cringe admitting this, but I even had to wipe away tears from the corners of my eyes a few times.
I don't want to be that asinine patient who says, mid-treatment (hence asking for more pain), "Umm...is it supposed to hurt that bad? Is there a reason you are digging to China through my gums with your floss?"
Through the blood, tears, and agony of the morning, I have one good thing to say...
"Look, Ma! No Cavities!"
Where's my treat? :-)