Tickling the Ivories: And Other Dental Nightmares

Ok, so I just walked through the door from a root canal. Sadly, it's my third one and I'm confident it won't be my last. The weird thing is it went great. And no, it's not the nitrous talking. I'm serious. However, this is a new and recent feeling and maybe tomorrow when I'm experiencing the throbbing after-effects I might feel differently.

I wasn't always this embracing of dental work (like earlier today, for example). Here's why. For some genetic reason, I have an abnormally small mouth (go ahead, make all those jokes in your head) and it's been a complete pain in the ass (biscupids?) for my whole life. To this day, getting X-rays makes me long for the soothing comfort of a mammogram -- particularly that fun one where they do the side smush and twist.

When I was a kid I needed to have teeth pulled and not just a few: 16 of my pearly whites.  If that seems extreme I completely agree. Luckily only (only??) 8 were permanent and it was over a 10-year period.

Like many people, I went to the same dentist for the first 20+ years of my life. This guy was great. And by great I mean cool. I have no idea if he was skilled, but he sure was nice. There was the time I was all nitrous'd up and felt I was floating around the galaxy with the Great Gazoo. Dr. Awesome says, "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if you could bag that stuff up and when your mom yells at you, you could just open it up and breathe it in?" See what I mean. So cool. Creepy. Unprofessional. But cool.

I think because I made so many visits to the dentist in my formative years -- I won't even get into the crazy reaction I had to the sodium pentathol during the removal of four impacted wisdom teeth, or the hideous gut wrenching reaction I had from the post-surgery Percoset -- I developed a legitimate dental anxiety.

Luckily, in my 20s and 30s I pretty much avoided extra work such as fillings, crowns, etc., but was still terrified of cleanings. So much so that I asked for nitrous at most of those routine appointments. My mom told me a lot of dentists themselves use nitrous when they get their own teeth cleaned, but now I realize it probably has less to do with anxiety and more to do with legal hallucinatory escape. Eventually I gave it up when a pregnant technician asked if I'd be willing to skip it for the safety of her unborn child. Of course I agreed and was surprised to learn I really didn't need it after all.

However, a few years ago I had a major set back getting a crown. Here's my actual Facebook post from that event:

Despite that hideous experience, I've come a long way. Having a gentle hygienist and a trustworthy dentist have made a world of difference. Plus, I've had a major epiphany: the more I go, the less scared I am. How messed up is that? Not to say I look forward to going. That would be weird. Look, I got dealt a shitty hand in the tooth department, but so do a lot of people. It's a matter of having professionals who know how to manage your anxiety and concerns. Like therapists in masks. With sharp tools.

Coming Clean on My Engagement: 5,870 days later

Last weekend marked my 17th wedding anniversary. We got engaged in December 1995 on an amazing whale watching expedition off the coast of San Diego. It was the most perfect, romantic moment of my life. At least that's the story I've been telling. Up until now.

Even though on our second date, I'd have married Eddie Virden (yes, we actually discussed it), it would be a full 5 years before we finally walked down the aisle and he crunched the glass under his foot. Around the 2 year mark I started thinking every day was engagement day. It was exhausting and disappointing, but I certainly wasn't going anywhere.

I remember him calling me at my job in Bethesda to come pick him up at a mechanic nearly an hour away because he'd been in a fender bender in Baltimore city. Giving him mental points for creativity, I honestly thought we were getting engaged and drove up there expecting him on bended knee. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the hood of his 1990 Honda Accord all crunched up. Moments like that would repeat themselves for two more agonizing years: trips to the grocery store, dinners out, side-by-side Stairmasters at the gym. I was really grasping.

Right around the 4-year mark in November of 1995, things started to go my way: we started talking rings. He'd come home from work and draw a circle on a piece of paper and I'd draw a bigger circle. We were really getting somewhere. I don't think it was any secret that our upcoming trip to southern California was going to be all about the engagement.

Arriving in San Diego, it was like having a third person with us at all times. When was this ring going to make an appearance? We both knew it was going to happen and we were both acting odd. He looked like he was about to donate a kidney and I was like a lion staring at a free organ.

Our first outing was the San Diego Zoo and we had a blast watching the gorillas during feeding time. I waited for Memba to beat his chest, sending a "Bro, it's cool, do it now" signal, but it wasn't meant to be. That evening we went on a sunset walk on the beach, holding hands and marveling at the scenery. But no ring. The next day we toured the Gas Light District. Still nada.

Late afternoon on our second day, we took a whale watching boat cruise. Just as we were about to leave port, we were joined by a family with a small kids. Those blasted rugrats continually circled the boat's perimeter, breaking up any mojo we had working. One particularly obnoxious boy camped out next to Eddie and shouted "WHALE" every time he saw a wave. I, on the other hand, was only concerned about spotting one in the platinum species. By the time our boat turned back for the harbor, I knew this was not happening.

Back at the room, I think we were both drained. I was chilling on the bed reading "High Fidelity" by Nick Hornby, knowing that I really needed to get dressed. Eddie had planned some super secretive dinner and obviously this whole thing was going down at the fancy schmancy restaurant. But obvious wasn't as obvious as I thought.

I could hear the tub running in the bathroom and figured Eddie was getting ready to shower up. He called me in and boy was I stunned. Laid out in front of me was the most beautiful setup: candles on every surface; platter of brie, crackers and grapes; a bottle of champagne and flower petals in the tub. He brought me back out to the room, said all the things a girl dreams about hearing and popped open that black velvet box exactly 1,490 days from our first date. Then he popped THE question.

After that shiny sucker was in place on my left hand he said, "Can we just tell everyone it happened on the whale watching trip? That's where I really wanted to do it, but that loud mouth family was  ruining the whole vibe. Plus I thought I might drop it overboard." Of course, I said yes to that question too.