The Anatomy of a Cavity

Thank you to Unconscious Mutterings for the Week 208 prompts, upon which this totally late Friday list is based.

Limit  ::  To what any reasonable person should have to endure.

Dr. Moreno had reached a limit to the odds and ends he could shove into my mouth.  "You need to open wide for me.  You're very wet, and I need the fill area to stay dry.'  "Oh, my," I thought.  "If he had any idea of the smart-alecky, inappropriate replies festering in my mind. . . . "  Instead, I opened my mouth wider.

Voice  ::  "Want to go out for a cup of coffee sometime?"

Didn't hear it.  Nope, didn't hear it at all.  Nor could I sense any sign of interest.  Dr. Moreno leaned over me, backlit by a blinding light, with his face almost entirely covered with surgical mask, weird coke-bottle glasses, extended spotlight, and magnifiers of some sort on a flexible arm—a throwback from The Twilight Zone.  Of course, I'm sure I never looked sexier with everything, including the kitchen sink, stuck in my mouth, which was the scene of great commotion.  What man in his right mind wouldn't want me?

Change  ::   Drill Speed.

The next hour-and-a-half was filled with activities such as shooting, drilling, sucking, and flooding, as I was transformed from a non-flossing fool to a person who would carry floss packs around in her purse for the rest of her life, to ward off any future possibility of decay between my back teeth and underneath the gum line.  "Hard to reach," Dr. Moreno had said helpfully.  After the Novocaine shots, he used the fast drill with its customary shrill whine, and then switched to a slower one, which ground with an ominous, deep growl that caused my head to vibrate and my brain to rattle around in my skull.  It was during the slow drilling that I began reciting my Hail Marys, even though I'm sure I got the words all mixed up because I'm not a Catholic, nor do I know anything about Catholicism, except that the head of their Church is a very powerful man called a Pope.

Expression  ::  Trying unsuccessfully to stay calm.

I could feel my eyebrows knitted tightly together, stuck in a tragic look, as I tried to distract myself by counting the foamy tiles on the ceiling.  I was clutching my reading glasses so forcefully that when I tried to put them on later, they sat crooked on my nose, one side dipping low onto my cheek that was barely noticeable, compared to my other cheek, which was blown up like a balloon over a paralyzed mouth with drool droplets clustered in the corner.

Tailor  ::  Made finish.

I guess it's obvious that I survived the ordeal.  Otherwise, you wouldn't be reading this blog now, would you?  Yes, I survived, and I'm sure there will be no flirting over coffee, no lingering over a delicious 5-course candlelit dinner at a tiny French restaurant somewhere.  I'm pretty sure I won't be seeing my very nice, if not a little demonic, dentist for another six months.  And even though I used to stretch my 6 month period between check-ups out to a year, I think, given the loveliness and joy of this little experience, that I will stick to the suggested time period, 6 months; and in addition will floss religiously on a regular basis, twice a day.  And just in case I flub up somewhere, and end up back in this chair facing the same ordeal with a second cavity in another hard-to-reach part of my mouth, I will have had half a year within which to memorize all the words to Hail Mary.  I will have purchased my very first rosary that will hold up under tight clutching much better than my poor reading glasses.  I'll have it all together by then.  My mother would be proud of me.  She always said it was a virtue to be prepared.

Comments

[Mark Proffit]

Very funny descriptive story. I almost prefer to see you go through more misery just to see how you will describe it. Haha.