When dentist visits go bad.

I went to the dentist yesterday for a toothache. I ended up at the Endodontist having an emergency root canal. Oy.

I had an 8am appointment with my regular dentist that I had not seen in too long. I go in, he scolds me appropriately, I tell him what’s going on. He takes an x-ray and says it’s bad, but he’s going to see what he can do. He’s worked magic before, doing an onlay on a tooth instead of going for a root canal, and it’s held up. Well first he couldn’t get me numb. He says that’s a sign of infection—something about the infection making the mouth more acidic and that making it so the Novocaine doesn’t work as well or something. But he shoots in some more. And some more. And tries another nerve. That seemed to do the trick, so he started drilling.

He drills. He drills a little more. And then OH MY GOD STOP NOW. He pokes. I jerk away. He sprays something in there. I jerk away. He says there’s nothing more he can do, the nerve is exposed, and he has to check to see if his associate or the office downstairs can do the root canal now. Oh by the way, can I stay to have this done this morning? Uh, I guess so.

He drops me at the front desk , mouth a-throbbing, to settle up and get what I need to go to the Endodontist downstairs. I tell the nice lady at the front desk that my insurance has changed. She blinks. “Don’t you know our policy? He no longer accepts insurance. You pay up front and then submit your claim to your insurance company for reimbursement. That’s $113, please.” I blink. I write a check. She takes another good 10 minutes to process the paperwork (If there’s no insurance issues, doesn’t that mean print my receipt?) while I stand there wondering if there’s any chance they’ll just knock me out for the rest of this, ok… hoping that they will, and then we go downstairs.

Downstairs I immediately have to excuse myself to put money in the meter. Then I got to fill out a slew of paperwork. I got to the insurance part and realized I didn’t have my new insurance information with me. I brought it up to the so incredibly nice, sweet, friendly woman at the desk. She says, “That’s ok, honey, we don’t take insurance. It’s pay up front.” I feel that initial bolt of panic streak across my brain. “Um, so how much will it be?” Throb. Throb. Throb. “Well, I can’t tell you until the end, but usually around $1600.” I feel that all-consuming hot sheet of panic move from my brain, down my face, into my abdomen…. “But I don’t have it.” Tears. Don’tcrydon’tcrydon’tcrydamnI’mcrying. “I mean, I could write you a check, but it wouldn’t be good. They already drilled out the tooth. I can’t pay for this.” She told me we could work out a payment plan, and that my insurance company is good about reimbursement. I sniffled and went to sit down. I really hope so, because the payment plan is more than a car payment each month.

The endodontist was great, very nice, and after the third try to get me numb, she was actually successful and was able to do the root canal. Her office was really high tech. They had this x-ray machine where the x-rays posted to their computer screen. It was really cool. I was impressed. But apparently there’s not the usual bite plate with this machine—it’s a re-usable instrument that they put a plastic shield on every time (kind of like the thermometer at the doctor’s office). The result was really cool, and it was fine at the beginning of the appointment, but in the middle of the root canal, whoa. Not good.

I already had the “dam” across my mouth. That’s this piece of latex with tiny holes in it that they poke the affected tooth through, wedging it in place by sliding it between your teeth like dental floss, and then put braces on the outside edges that keep it all taut and in place. It kind of felt like Clockwork Orange meets the dentist. Now that’s kind of suffocating unto itself. I understand it, with the keeping the tongue out of the way and avoiding the spit spews and whatnot, but um, could I have some suction under here? Because saliva glands don’t stop working just because you’ve covered them up, and I can’t swallow with no tongue mobility. Yeah. So then, she removes the brace from one side and sticks this plastic sheathed bite plate into my mouth to take an x-ray mid procedure. I had to talk myself out of panic and into stillness, “If you move,they will have to take another one and this will continue. Don’t move. Don’t move.” Plastic tickling the back of my throat, covering my mouth, I could only breathe through my nose (and that’s never a guaranteed thing with me), and I was starting to desperately feel the need to swallow or cough. It was awful.

But, it got done. Well, the first part got done. I go back in April for the second part. You know, when they’ll screw the roots of the tooth to the bone so it doesn’t fall out of my head? Oh the things to look forward to!

(And isn’t it time for your six-month checkup?)