A walk on the canal


No, not that canal (although it is lovely), the root canal.

Just home from an hour and a half in the dentist’s chair. Not my favorite way to spend an afternoon, but as dental work goes, it wasn’t bad. In fact after a few tense moments I found myself morbidly fascinated by the reflection of the doctor’s work in the glass just above me.

I have a mouth full of aging dental work. Some forty years old. Or older.

I didn’t have good dental experiences as a child. If you recall Steve Martin from Little Shop of Horrors, that was the inspiration for my the dentist of my childhood.

Should my childhood dentist or his family be reading this, just remember that’s from the mind of an eight-year-old.

The dentist terrified me. And rightfully so. Anti-pain meds then were nothing like they are today. And truth be told, this dentist didn’t have much patience for children who whined.

Which, I did. And I’m not ashamed to admit it.

I am embarrassed however to admit that one time I refused to open my mouth and my more embarassed parents took me home without my having any work done.

They should have tanned my behind.

Which, they did.

Still, I think the episode so traumatized them that they didn’t bother taking me back for a few years, and that to a different dentist. By that time, I needed a lot of work done.

A lot.

I do a better job of taking care of the teeth today. But sometimes these aging fillings go bad.

Interestingly, I didn’t make the connection until later, but my 30 Days of Thanks post at Examiner.com today was about being thankful for health.

Like I said, the experience wasn’t that bad.

But when all is said and done, I prefer the other canal.

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