So, it’s a beautiful day outside and I have been sitting on the couch the last few hours in pain.
This is the third visit I’ve had at the dentist in nearly as many days and my jaw is alive with pain. I spent two hours at the dentist waiting first for a patient to get their dental work done, then my anaesthetic to kick in, then another patient to get seen before my root canal was started.
Granted, my dentist is a very kind and gentle soul, but effing hell I hate dentists.
I’ve lived in and out of dentists’ chairs since I was around nine and I’m just tired. I’m tired of deciding on white or metallic fillings, extraction or root canal, tired on deciding just exactly how long to wait for a crown before the stupid tooth decides to crack or flare up in fresh pain,tired of the pain and tired of spending a small fortune on a seemingly futile quest to get some sort of long term relief from the joys of toothache.
So today as I lay back in the chair listening to the drill and trying to keep my mouth as open as possible without unhinging my jaw, I seriously contemplated getting all the teeth just yanked out and getting dentures. I have had three root canal treatments in as many months, on teeth that have caused me pure agony. For two days last month I could only drink soup and even chewing through that was painful. How much more can I take?! it’s exasperating.
Anyway, before this pity party of one really starts going, what was I really thinking about was that I had the misfortune of falling arse end into the shallow end of the teeth genetic pool in my family.
My mother has only ever been to the dentist, as far as I know, twice her whole life. My dad though, oh my dad had bad teeth. I remember flying to Zambia in 2003 and he had had two extractions because he was finally just sick of having so many problems with his teeth. This brought his missing teeth total to four at the time, and he still complained about them. So no prizes for where I get my beautiful pearly whites then, huh?
So anyhoo. I’ve made an appointment for Roz to see the dentist next weekend too. I read here and on other sites that the health of the milk teeth definitely affect the health of the permanent teeth and with the wonderful record (not!) that Roz has of brushing her teeth, I am deeply afraid for her.
Supposing she inherits my horrid teeth? And supposing we make the whole situation worse by not prying her mouth open each evening to brush the life out of her milk teeth? So yeah, she’s going to the dentist next week.
You may ask how possible it will be for a two and a half year old to realistically sit in a chair and open her mouth for x number of minutes to a total stranger, and yup, I’ve wondered the same thing. but as in all things in life, we only learn by doing, and the more familiar she gets with the routine and the same face, the easier it will be in later years to ensure that her oral hygiene will be as commonplace as going to the doctor to get her heart listened to.
My biggest worry is actually if she’ll stay quiet long enough to let the poor man have a chance to look into her mouth.
I don’t rate his chances highly.