On going to the dentist

I think there is something ironic about the fact that the only time I have ever had a toothache is when I have returned home from the dentist. Every time I go there, even if only for a cleaning and check-up, I invariably come home with a throbbing toothache and sore jaw. It almost seems counter productive. If I weren’t such a coward about the inevitable effects of dental neglect, I would be tempted to see how long I could go without a visit and the resultant discomfort.

I don’t really have any problems with my actual dentist visit. Even during my cavity prone years when I had to have fillings done, I usually skipped the numbing shot during the drilling. Sure the drilling hurt like hell, but it only lasted for a few minutes. Whereas, if I had the needle, I knew that I would be in for at least three days of post-filling agony with my whole jaw throbbing. It was like my body punished me for avoiding the initial pain by reminding me for days afterward that I had tried to escape my karma for getting the cavity in the first place. I suffered from episodes of “Dental Karmic Justice”.

What I really need is to come home from the dentist with a doggy bag. I could come home with my own little tank of nitrous oxide and a take-home-a-sack assortment of pain medications. I am sure that there are at least a dozen laws against this DIY drug induced coma kit, but it seems unfair that the times when I don’t really need to be medicated are the only times when it is available to me. There must a life lesson in there somewhere.