Dental Drama

Posted 1 year ago at 10:45 am. 1 comment

Yesterday afternoon I caved in - after withstanding weeks, months of mum’s badgering, I conceeded and agreed to go to the dentist.

I’ve been avoiding the dentist of the same reason many others do - fear.  Well, I have a variety of reasons (denial, shame), but it’s mostly fear.  In my youth (well, early youth I suppose) I did everything I could to dodge the dental van.  I’d throw away countless newsletters and notices, fake mum’s signature - usually she’d catch on and sign the appropriate papers to have my teeth filled and otherwise meddled with, but I’d wriggle out of that too, usually by faking a sick day or just plain not showing up.  In my much earlier youth - I’m talking as early as I can remember - mum used to have to sit on my chest and hold my arms to brush my teeth.

I guess I just didn’t enjoy foreign objects in my mouth.

I suppose I’m quite blessed - visually, aside from an irritating crossover on my front teeth that Nathan apparently finds cute -  my teeth are in fine form.  No chips or holes or stains - but as I found out yesterday, there’s considerable trouble in dental paradise.

I departed work early in the afternoon - around 4pm, and found a seat on the unexpectedly quiet train.  I’d visited the library earlier in the day so I was equipped with enough reading material to keep me occupied for the entire journey - but I ended up napping anyway.

As the train approached Morayfield I stirred, gathered my phone, book and bag, double checked that I had infact gathered my phone, book and bag, and waiting at the door.  The faint aroma of urine made me wrinkle my nose, and reminded me of exactly why I prefer not to utilise our magnificent public transport system.
After stuffing around at mum’s place for a while, she drove me to the dentist, touting the wonders of MBF at me, until we got inside, I scribbled my name on some forms, and we went through to the dentists office…

(more to come, brb.)