Blue tooth

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The only time in my life that I've ever taken a Xanax was right before an appointment to get my teeth cleaned — a hopeful attempt to dull the relentless anxiety that I experience as soon as I smell even the potential for a dental visit.

It may be because my orthodontist used to occasionally tell me to open up just so he could have a look, then rip out one of my endlessly-lingering baby teeth. But I think it's more than that. It's a sound thing, and a smell thing. And it's just so intimate to have someone messing with your mouth, someone you can't bite if they hurt  you. (Though I have, creating an awkward relationship with Dr. Blackwell.)

The other day, I went in for a cleaning at our new dentist's office here in Bozeman. I'm none too pleased to have a stranger in charge of my mouth. I felt the compulsion to sooth myself by asking him a lot of questions, but I've also found that the best solution to my dental anxiety is my ipod, turned up loud. So I was stuck between my desire to conduct an interview and to completely tune out.

This time, I opted for tuning out, and was deep into an episode of  "This American Life" when the dentist tugged at me to inform me that I need a crown. Ugh.

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And that's how today, I ended up back at the dentist's office, my hands shaking so hard as I attempted to read the requisite appetizer of a magazine that I couldn't even digest a page.




I'm stunned by how involuntary my reaction is. I'm able to talk my mind down, but apparently my words aren't so persuasive below the neck.

I got through it, and sit here now with a shiny new thing in my mouth, foreign, but familiarly toothy.

Because of my daily Whoppers-with-my-coffee habit in college, my teeth are a bit of a technological marvel, and I'm grateful for all the modern technology. Queasy, but grateful.

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