Root Canal

"...About as much fun as a root canal." This is one of those old, sarcastic jokes I've known my whole life but can never remember hearing outside of movies from the 80's.

Until recently I really hated brushing my teeth. I just couldn't motivate myself to do it. The two minutes spent standing in front of the sink felt like hours of wasted time. Wasted, because my teeth felt fine: no pain, no sensitivity to hot or cold, no problems. They weren't sparkling-white like one of Meyer's vampires but I didn't look like I had scurvy either, which was good enough for me. So I maintained a minimal brushing routine.

That is until the pain started. It began as all things do, as something small: just a little sensitivity to extreme temperatures, which I treated by covering the afflicted tooth with the inside of my cheek, shielding it during those first few drinks of a fresh cup of coffee or a newly opened can of pop. But the sensitivity grew into a subtle background tinge that never went away. I stepped up the brushing a little but soon fell back into old habits.

Eventually the tooth was screaming instead of whining, and one night in August I couldn't sleep because of the pain. I lay in bed trying every mental trick I knew but my entire body tensed and shuddered as waves of pain emanated from my mouth. I tried not to think about how effective dental torture must be. The next morning I opted out of work and Googled dentists in my area. I called one based not only on its extreme proximity but also the quality of the website and the glowing testimonials found there. Miraculously they were able to see me for an emergency appointment, and at 9am I sat in a brand new office on the third floor of a brand new building a short walk from my apartment. When I stepped off the elevator a picture of the dentist shaking President Obama's hand greeted me. Already I was impressed.

I was led to a room almost immediately and only had a few minutes worth of reading before the dentist came in. He took the time to be warm and friendly even though I could tell he was busy. I didn't mind at all; I was grateful they'd been able to squeeze me into what looked like a full day. He asked about the problem and had me open wide. He had barely craned his head to peer into my mouth when he said, "Oh yeah, I see what's going on there." The night before even my bleary eyes had seen it in the harsh light of the bathroom mirror--a dark, gaping cavity in the molar farthest back in my mouth. I felt a little better knowing I hadn't been overreacting.

He had a dental assistant with a charming smile and fantastic dreadlocks do a series of X-rays while he attended to his other patients. When he came back to inspect the panoramic, monochromatic map the many X-rays had created my fears were confirmed: the molar needed a root canal, and there were a couple cavities besides. I had mentally prepared myself for this, but it was still hard news to hear. They ran my insurance and the woman behind the front desk (named Sparkles) exclaimed over a stack of forms that I had very good coverage. They worked out a plan to get the root canal completely taken care of, which would max out my coverage for the year. The rest would have to wait but they had that all planned out, too. Even with my fantastic dental insurance I'd still be paying $445 out of pocket. We set an appointment date for after my next non-rent payday and I left the office with three prescriptions, two for pain and one for penicillin.

The penicillin did wonders, as did the generic Ibuprofen that Walmart uses. The third prescription had more warning labels and seemed to be the serious one. I held off taking those until the other two weren't cutting it. Unfortunately I learned too late that the generic Codeine does jack shit against even the tamest pains. One particularly terrible night I tripled up on Tylenol PM and two of these "hardcore" pain pills and nothing happened. Finally I just became so exhausted I fell asleep curled up in the fetal position. I had to push the root canal back a month for financial reasons, and the week I spent without penicillin while I waited for a refill was the worst.

The day eventually came and I woke up early to eat breakfast for once. I didn't want to pass out from pain and low blood-sugar, something that had happened before when I failed to eat before a tattoo. I'd felt a little light-headed and slipped in slow-motion to the bare cement floor looking for the water cooler, waking up to the tattoo artist offering Skittles and smiling at me like I was an idiot. A single parfait is all I wanted or had time for, and it would have to do. I dressed, packed my bag, and woke my sleeping girlfriend for a kiss goodbye. She whispered admonishments to contact someone for a ride afterwards if I needed, which I good-naturedly protested. With fifteen minutes until my appointment began I set off down the street, reading as I walked through the breezy morning air. Traffic flowed into my neighborhood towards the rising sun at my back and garbage trucks stopped to dump dumpsters into their metal holds.

At 8am the waiting room already had four or five people reading magazines in the comfy red chairs. The TV over the large, half-circle fish tank blared the "news". All of it was pre-anniversary 9-11 dramatics. I did my best to ignore it and focus on my book, and I was called back shortly. The room was small, clean, and welcoming. Almost the entire facing wall was filled by a square window that looked out into blue sky and white clouds. I watched a man in t-shirt and jean shorts exit the building opposite and enjoy a cigarette before climbing into a white van and entering tunnel traffic. I read and tried to relax while an assistant got everything ready on trays behind me. The dentist came in and we exchanged chitchat while he washed his hands and put on fresh blue latex gloves. His daughter had just started pre-K and he seemed excited to have her in school.

We talked briefly about our kids but all too soon it was time to get to work. My chair was slowly reclined and a big wad of numbing gel was placed between my cheek and gums. Despite the large amount, the shots of anesthetic still hurt worse than I remembered and I winced visibly, gripping tight the arms of the chair all five or six times the needle stabbed deep into my gums. The dentist apologized and I tried to grunt that it was okay. I was left alone to allow the chemicals to take affect while they tended to other patients.

He came back presently and started in without a word. The assistant had already clamped the tooth off and stretched a dental dam over what felt like half my face. He took a small drill from the tray behind my head and began right way. From the informative video they had me watch on the root canal process during my last visit, I assume this is when he ground the molar down to a round stump and started the large bore hole down into the pulp. Only once during this part of the procedure did I feel anything, jumping sideways away from the low rumble of the drill, and the dentist was quick to shoot some more of the good stuff directly into the tooth with a tiny, angled needle. Afterward he regularly injected anesthetic between bouts of drilling. I knew from that same instructional yet unsettling video (despite all obvious efforts to the contrary) what the large, triangle-shaped drill was doing: hollowing out my tooth of its tender pulp, right down to the roots. I made the mistake of opening my safety-glassed eyes to see the drill covered with red and white bits and a large white suction tube fill red with my blood.

Now, I'm not squeamish. At all. I love gory movies and it takes nothing short of real-life horrific trauma to make me look away. That being said, I nearly fainted. I blanched at the very least. I felt pinpricks of sweat all over my body and tried not to wonder what would happen if I threw up at this point in the procedure. Even though I felt nothing that was being done to me, at some level my body knew that blood belonged to it and didn't like that one bit. It took a few minutes of slow, deep breathing to calm down while he drilled on.

From there everything was amazingly smooth. While my new tooth-well dried the dread-locked assistant turned on the TV and I found a "Law & Order: SVU" marathon, my favorite. The only other pain came during the filing and shaping of my temporary crown, when the dentist accidentally pinched my lip sharply against the edge of my lower teeth. My stay was also slightly extended due to sickness on the part of three-quarters of the staff, leaving only the dentist and the one assistant for a whole suite full of patients. I didn't care, SVU was on and nothing hurt. I put my arms behind my head in the dental chair and enjoyed some hassle-free TV watching, something of a rarity at home.

After a few tries the temporary crown stayed on and was shorn down so my bite (or "occlusion" as they say in the field) didn't feel wrong. I shook the dentist's hand, thanking him for everything and refusing his apologies for the delay. The dental assistant held up a mirror so I could check myself before going out into public, joking that I'd be mad if she let me go outside looking a mess. I used a wet paper towel to clear a couple stubborn drops of dried bonding agent from my cheek and nose. I thanked her for all her help and she told me I was a real joy to have.

As I paid my dues to Sparkles at the front desk she had me write down the name of the book I'd been reading (which is "The Terror" by the way, and it is amazing) while she ran my card. No prescriptions were given and I didn't expect any. Even though I was still very numb in the bottom-left quadrant of my face I felt surprisingly fine. More than I would have allowed myself to hope for earlier that day. I decided against a ride home and easily walked the few blocks under my own power. Which, to be honest, was a little disappointing; that part of me that loves ridiculous experiences had been looking forward to stumbling home through pain and the fog of medication.

As it was I made it home easily, tonguing the foreign crown all the way. It felt rough and out of place in a mouth I'd become very acquainted with since my first appointment, unable to stop exploring the cavity with my tongue and dental floss. I'd received no instruction on when it was safe to eat solid foods but I didn't want to risk it. Luckily my girlfriend's mom was able to bring over vegetarian soups and my favorite thing of all: French bread. While I waited for my food to arrive I was reminded just how much comfort I derive from eating. I kept getting up to look in the kitchen for some kind of relief. Also I hadn't eaten all day and was starving.

After a bowl of tomato soup and a miniature loaf of bread I felt very contented. Enough in fact to curl up on the couch to a bad horror movie and sleep for the next four hours. When I finally woke up the anesthetic had worn off, and my tongue hurt. At first I thought a sharp protrusion on the crown had rubbed it raw, but after inspecting a long bleeding gash in the mirror I realized it must have been bitten while still numb. It was the only thing in my mouth that gave me any trouble all night. The pain was enough to cure me of any lingering curiosity towards have my tongue pierced, however.

Maybe advances in dentistry have come a long way in the ten-plus years since I've been, or maybe Idahoan dentists are cruel, but this dreaded root canal ended up being the best dental procedure I can remember. I wouldn't want to do it again, as much to avoid the pain of the needles as shelling out over $400, but I can say now that root canals really aren't so bad. Hell, if this is what root canals are like I can't imagine how easy plain old cavities are now. Technology, am I right?

And Doctor Holland, if you're reading this, you the man. Even without that picture of you shaking Obama's hand.