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I’m a girl with an oral hygiene addiction.

Yesterday was not a good day. In fact, I think I hit an all time low, if we’re measuring by the amount tears shed on any given day. I’d been dreading the visit to the dentist for ages—ever since I cracked two fillings and my jaw began to ache. I could tell from just looking at the one tooth a root canal was in my future. What I didn’t expect was to have a mouth full of cavities… again.

You have to know, I’m a girl with an oral hygiene addiction. Iz and I joke that there are more dental care products in the bathroom than there are hair care products, and you know how I feel about hair goop! I’m a sucker for the next best dental floss, tooth-paste, mouth rinse… and that doesn’t take into account all the homeopathic aids I’ve bought over the years.

I’d tell you it’s vanity—and it is, if you consider vanity to be, “I don’t want to lose all my teeth.” This is not an irrational fear on my part, since both of my parents faced just that before they were 30. They passed on those genes and you can see it in my paper thin enamel. But I’ll have you know, that with exception to a cavity in a baby-tooth at the age of 5 I didn’t have another filling until I was 30! And that’s because I’ve been so obsessive. I rinse, brush, or floss after every meal and then sometimes just because.

However, something went awry at 30 (Uh, had a traumatic pregnancy and diagnosed with an autoimmune disease) and I’ve been playing “plug the gaps” ever since. Which is partly why I dread the dentist. A visit is a reminder that some things are very much outside of my control—and that reminder usually comes with an expensive price tag just to rub a bit of salt into the wound.

Now, in the realm of real world worries, getting your teeth fixed (over and over and over) is unfortunate and painful and expensive—but it is not cancer. Or bankruptcy. Or losing your job or having a beloved pet die or any other scenario that haunts a soul. It’s fixable, it’s doable, it’s part of getting older and the progressive devolving that is aging. Yes, folks, I’m getting old. (SHUT IT, Emily, xoxo Kitty!)

And if it was just that, then I don’t think I would have spent yesterday in tears. What I dread is the inevitable guilt that comes along with a dentist peeking into my mouth. It’s probably just me, but I always walk away feeling like I’m 12 and an utter failure because once again my mouth is a mess! It’s humiliating. The shame and the guilt and the lectures. No one wants to be reduced to twelve—especially by a health-care professional. Up until yesterday, I’ve had the worst luck drawing dentists from the “approved physicians list” my insurance policy provides. My last big dental encounter was with a dentist who was so mean, I nearly walked out of the office. Apparently,  he thought because I was stoic at the first visit, that I wasn’t really in pain. Despite the raging infection he could easily see. He didn’t want to prescribe pain meds and thought I was rude. We worked it out, but the initial encounter left me a sobbing mess for days waiting for treatment—in severe pain, humiliated to be branded a “drug-seeker!”, and fearing what was coming next.

Oh, and then there is that whole irrational fear of Dentists thing. Even the nicest dental office turns my knees to jello.

Now, I should make a short aside here and say—I’m not blogging about any local dentist.  This is all in the past, thank goodness! My experience yesterday was so much better than I could have imagined even with all the complications.  I’d have nothing but GOOD to say, if I was saying it. In fact, I’d be raving—even as the bill is breaking my heart! All my trauma yesterday was completely self inflicted. I have a lot of practice doing unhinged, apparently.

So… that’s me… a total emotional wreck at just the thought of visiting a dentist. I’m rejoicing that this time was better.  I walked out with 4 new items to add to my treasure chest of oral hygiene products—yes, that makes me ridiculously happy. And I’m so grateful to have lovely, lovely friends who have sent me emails and messages of support and promises that it’s all going to be OK. Kerri, Margaret, and Emily–I love you.

I’m also thankful that I have a spouse who understands how unhinged I get about going to the dentist. He has been so patient… stopping to listen every time the tears overwhelmed. That’s a lot, people, because I was a hot mess yesterday! You all know I adore him, but it should be said from time to time; I have an amazing husband. And seriously, if you’ve ever seen me in that hiccuping, snot-laden, I can’t breathe because I’m crying so hard state, you’d know he’s a saint!

I suspect the title is obvious, but in case it’s not: Here you go! Clicky clicky! It’s a fun read and interesting history.