I smell burnt rubber

No, I am not talking about a thrill ride in a fancy sports car.

Far from it, it was a ride in a dentist's -- ahem, an endodontist's -- chair. I was there for a root-canal; something I had never had before. The thing that stayed with me the longest, alright second longest (more on that later), is the smell of burnt rubber. I still don't know what it was -- was it burning dental pulp as she was excavating away on my 6-year molar or was it accidental burning of the plastic/rubber film that they spread across the mouth to capture the debris. For much of the day I couldn't help but keep smelling it. Glad that that's cleared.

The procedure itself was quite painless allaying the dread with which I walked in. Never before had I felt the commonly held fear of the dental facilities. But Nov 7th was not a date I was looking forward to. After the always awkward shot of Novacaine took effect making me feel like I had 3 inch thick lips to match a just as thick a tongue, everything was smooth sailing. It was just like your garden variety cavity filling only lasting much longer -- about an hour. Even the fact that it was cold as a meat locker didn't seem to bother me -- maybe because I went prepared wearing 3 layers of clothes.

Now, why is it that doctor's facilities have the distinct feel of the polar caps. Why this dentist's office even had a sign that said "Please let us know if you are cold. We have blankets!". I was incredulous! You have blankets!! Why don't you just shut down the freaking cryopump! Now, if I had a dentists facility -- or for that matter any kind of medical office I would make it comfortably warm. I would the sound of babbling brooks. Birds chirping. Whatever it takes to make the patient feel happy to to be infirm! I would bake some muffins, make it smell like a bakery -- for cryin' out loud!

Getting back to the subject of the dredging of my mouth; after the fifth time reiminder to open my mouth wide, I was ever so greatful when they gave a bite guard. It kept my mouth in the unnaturally wide open position. The effects of which are my most lasting memory of the procedure. Two days later, my jaw still complains to open wider than to chew on a slice of pizza!

I have always marveled at my general dentist's ability to babble away merrily with his assistant while working on my teeth. It was his way of distracting the patient from the ongoing gore (if I could just tune out the drill). The endodontist took this banter to another level. She kicks things off telling her assistant "let's get the show on the road". Then she goes headlong into a explanation of a recipe for cooking chicken. She goes into the preparation of the chicken, lists the ingredients of the dish and the cooking instructions. All the while she has two hands in my mouth looking through a microscope kind of device. I wanted to stop her and say "Can you please focus on the patient at hand, please?!". But how could I? I had hands in my mouth and a tongue that was as thick as my pillow!

Every once in a while she would break off her story and ask "How are you doing there" or "You ok?". I was so engrossed on the story de moment -- it went from cooking chicken to sibling rivalries to kid's jobs -- that it took a second or two to realize that she was talking to me! I'd respond with the A-OK, thumb to forefinger or thumbs up indication that I was peachy as can be -- under ths circumstances.

After a while of listening to their banter I found myself getting distracted. Maybe it was my inability to participate in the conversation, I couldn't roll over to the side to break the monotony let alone possibly boff off and take a walk. It was then I suddenly noticed something. The doctor was peering through a microscope-like device while working on my teeth. I noticed that if I focussed just so, I could see a reflection of my teeth in the microscope's lens -- albeit inverted and shrunk. Just as quickly I wanted to look away -- you see gore and I don't go well together. But how could I look away. Recall my aforementioned captive state.

Now, the whole tooth saga could not have come at a more importune time. I had been training for the last 4 months to run the Raleigh marathon on Nov 4. However, in the days leading up to the marathon -- as I was awaiting an opening at the endodontist's I was popping Naproxen and Vicondin like any good druggie would. When I wasn't holding my jaw in agony waiting for the medication to kick in, I was in a drug addled stupor. Running even one mile was out of question.

Also inconvenient about this episode was the fact that I had been harping on my 7-year old to brush for longer than 15 seconds. My writhing in agony was putting a serious kibosh on being a role model. Telling her that daddy doesn't have filthy teeth and that the problem was owing to my grinding my teeth wasn't passing muster.

Nevertheless, all that is behind me now. As soon as I can open wide once more, I need to exchange pleasantries with the dentist again -- this time to put a crown on this tooth. And that, I am told, is a royal pain!