“Take these,” the dentist said. “It’ll take the edge off.”
I replied with a smile, “I want to be able to walk out of here.”
He said with assurance, ” Oh, of course, no worries. This is a very small dose. Just takes the edge off.”
I was not relaxed as I sat in the new-to-me dentist’s chair. He noticed, so I told him a little about my calamitous dental past.
One dentist gave me four shots of something I react adversely to before he read my file. The guys in the ambulance were nice. They wanted to know what year it was, who the president was, and even asked about my kids. They seemed a little concerned though, when I knew I had kids, but couldn’t recall how many or their ages. I told my husband to tell them, but he just looked at me.
I once had to have a root canal done with a mild anesthesia because they didn’t have anything that wouldn’t make my heart race. The dentist told my husband I was one tough lady. He agreed.
One time I had an extraction and almost choked on the gauze packing, so I took it out and developed a dry socket. Tylenol 4 took the edge off the pain and all sense of reality. (I didn’t tell this dentist the last part. Maybe I should have.)
I continued to plead my case… I am easy to treat, my body is sensitive. Children’s Motrin gets rid of a migraine.
After all that, he still felt this dose was best, so I swallowed the two white tablets with the little cup of water his assistant gave me.
Ten minutes later, drunk as a skunk, I could hardly walk to the restroom. When I returned, the dentist marveled at how quickly the meds had worked. I knew the “relax mode” was not even close to its fullness.
He prepared my tooth to be worked on, hooked my finger to a monitor, and turned on some smooth jazz for my enjoyment.
The last thing I remember was hearing the drill fire up.
The next morning, I woke up at home in my bed, fully clothed. When I sat up, my head felt like it was about to explode. I settled back, which eased the throbbing in my head, and thought about my situation. I remembered being at the dentist’s office and the drill beginning it’s work on my tooth, but not much else.
Soon my daughter came into my room to see how I was feeling. I had a lot of questions.
She told me the dentist had to put me in the car. When he asked how long our trip home would be, she replied, “About an hour.”
“She’ll be awake by then.”
My daughter delighted in telling me of our trip home. “You kept asking if the procedure was over yet and you mumbled a lot. I couldn’t make sense of most of it.” She laughed.
I asked her how she got me up our steps, onto the porch, and into the house.
“You did everything I asked you to. When we got to the steps, I told you to pick up your foot and you did. I had to support you, but you walked.” (I’m glad she is a good daughter who loves her mama and would not take advantage of the moment and make me do some ridiculous stunt. If she did, she’s not telling. )
I don’t remember any of it.
It’s good that my dentist gave me something to take the edge off, you know, dull the nerves a bit. But my definition of the edge is what I was standing on, and fell off of. I spent the next 24 hours climbing back up.
As I consider it, though, in light of my dental past, it was not a bad experience. My tooth is fixed, and I did not experience any serious pain. It’s all good.
Yes, I know about the edge.