I'm pretty sure that, along with the fire and brimstone and eternal separation from God, Hell also involves neverending dental exams. They finally take that paper bib off of you. You think the mouth annihilation is done. They start over. Pressing your teeth, every single last one!, into that weird fluoride mouth-form doodad. You gag and rinse, spitting out tinges of blood mixed in with little tartar remnants, fluoride gunk, and what looks like pieces of your cheek. Holy Stop-The-Barbaric-Torture! Now you've peed your pants. You think surely they're finished. They start over. And over. And over. A hellish dentist-go-round ride that you can't ever get off of.
The poking. The prodding. The freakadoo jabby scrapey tools. That high-pitched whirring sound. And, of course, that distinctive nauseating dentist smell. Whatever the heck that smell is, it causes me to feel like I need to breathe into a paper bag the second I smell it.
Yep. Look up the description of Hell in the Bible. The dentist part is right there in the fine print.
So where have I been? What have I been doing with my non-bloggy self, you ask?
1.) My great buddy, Jen, flew in from Connecticut to visit for eight days. Eight delightful days of chatting in our pj's, cooking, eating, shopping, and reminiscing about our glory days in College Station. Ahh. Bliss is the comfortable familiarity of a true friend. It's like medicine for the soul. Glad you made it home safely, buddy. Now come back!! (*Pictures of our adventures to come.)
2.) Well. I've been in quite a bit of pain lately. And as a result, haven't felt like doing much other than lying around on a heating pad and moaning. And getting Bengay head and neck rubs from whatever poor person is willing to subject themselves to the lovely Nursing Home waftings of camphor and menthol. (Are you getting a mental picture? It's mighty nice, huh.)
For the past couple of months, I have had this ever-present headache and face pressure, which has gotten to the point of I-Can't-Stand-It-Anymore/Fix-Me! over the past couple of weeks. Long whiny story short, I went to the doctor yesterday. He did a cat scan and couldn't find anything wrong with my head or sinuses. Which led us to a discussion about whether it could possibly be...
Which immediately put me into a tailspin. PLEASENOPLEASENOPLEASENOPLEASENOPLEASENO,GOD!
You see, since, well, I don't know, birth?, I have had this crazy, totally irrational fear of the dentist. I don't know what it is, or why I haven't grown out of it. I guess it's just one of those nifty little details that makes me Me. I can go to the doctor for a plethora of reasons and emerge just fine as can be. They can draw blood, start IV's, do biopsies, poke around in unpleasant places, chop off a leg...and I'm A-okay. The dentist. Eee. You so much as say the word "dentist" and my pulse starts racing and I start sweating like a pig.
And tomorrow I have to go. To. The. Dentist. To see if my pain and pressure is tooth related.
I am going to try not to hyperventilate on the drive to the office. I am going to try not to brace myself in the door frame, like a dog going to the vet when we get there. I am going to try not to turn white as a sheet when I smell that smell or hear that noise. I am going to try not to gag and hurl when they stick those ever-nifty "wing bite" x-ray thingees in the back of my mouth. (Serenity now.) And I am going to try not to burst out squalling or pass out when I catch sight of their vast array of bright and shiny instruments. Yes, indeedy (huge dramatic sigh), I'm going to try my darnedest to act like an adult.
I've never even had a cavity, for Pete's sake, and all I can envision right now is root canals and lots and lots of drilling. I just know it. Pain like this cannot end well. I suspect "you just need a good teeth cleaning" is NOT what I'm going to hear tomorrow. (Even though I definitely do need one. Yeah, we're not really going to talk about how ridiculously long it's been since I last mustered the courage to go to Hell. Er, I mean, the dentist.)
Maybe I should just have them meet me at the car with a tank of nitrous oxide and some Valium. ...Or a club. A club would probably do the trick.