I had to have a tooth extracted a couple of weeks ago. It was a horrendous experience. Three and half hours and four shots of Novocain later, I was one tooth shorter and traumatized for life. They had to dig it out. Practically climbing onto my chest for leverage. Drilling, splintering, and gouging tooth fragments from my jaw bone. There was no escape from the torturous pressure and horrifying sounds. Whirring drills, cracking molars and flying bits of pulp, dentin, and enamel.
I COULD HEAR THE CRACK OF THE MOLAR.
I told my husband that I think only sadists must go into dental work. People who enjoy inflicting pain. Now, don’t get me wrong, I do realize dentistry is an important part of overall health. And I’m very glad that there are folks with fetishes who are able to find work in their field, people willing to take charge and do the deeds of the dental sort. Somebody has to.
But still. Yuk.
They look in people’s mouths for a living. I honestly cannot think of a more disgusting job. Cow insemination? I would rather stick my rubber-gloved arm up a heifer’s hoo-ha than willingly gape in a stranger’s maw. Studying the science of maggots? I would prefer the stench and wiggle of detailed investigation into the lifecycle of dead tissue inhabitants than risk the malodorous haze of a person with oral decay. Proctologist? Honestly, I would jab a lubed and latexed finger up a rear end before I would poke around that northern orifice.
Then we were watching Blindspot and Jane got punched in the face and lost a tooth and I thought – aha! The Van Damme School of Dentistry. Brilliant! One quick u-punch to the afflicted area and voila, extraction complete! I trust you Jean-Claude. I have faith in your methods and your martial artists. Appointments would work like this: Shot of whiskey, roundhouse, spit out tooth, whiskey rinse, pack of frozen peas applied to cheek of empty socket. Save yourself hundreds of dollars, hours of invasive excavating, and have a great story to tell.
I can’t believe that desiring a kick to the jaw makes me any more of a masochist than scheduling an appointment with the dentist.
Yes, there’ll still be post-hole work to be done. In real life, not on TV. I’ve had repeated appointments for weeks now. The chick on Blindspot doesn’t even acknowledge the gaping hole in her grin but my dentist makes me come in regularly for cleaning and molding and check-ups. She doesn’t seem to have any trouble sleeping with that side of her face resting on the pillow or making sure chewed bits don’t catch in the wound. I have yet to see her rinse and spit with warm salt water. And watch as I may, I haven’t witnessed her tongue poking the cheek as it strays of its own accord, probing the pit.
In a couple of weeks, my work will be complete and I can stop thinking (and whining) about this. Until the next dental tragedy. *sigh*
Quick, let’s make this Van Damme Dental School a thing! Donate to the Kickstarter program now. No pun intended.
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