Where is Gary Larson When You Need Him?

I got my teeth cleaned a couple of days ago. I wouldn't want to do it every day, but I like going to the dentist from time to time, like, say... twice a year or so. What I don't like is going twice in one week. The second time you go is when you spend some quality time with the actual dentist... the guy with the DDS. I don't know what you have to do to become a dentist, but it must not be pleasant, because those guys are mean.

I had never had a cavity before in my life. I was one of "those kids," if you will. I used to chew on aluminum foil just because I could, but no more. Now I chew things very softly because my jaw still aches from being held wide open for an ungodly amount of time. (An ungodly amount of time is approximately 45 minutes.)

In case you have never had a cavity filled, I would like to relay the process to you.

The dentist started by shining a bright light in my eyes and then politely laughing as I winced in pain. Unfortunately for him, he needed that light to see in my mouth, so it wasn't in my eyes for long. He oriented himself with the inside of my mouth (where I keep my cavities) and then, when I wasn't looking, put a very large needle inside. I never saw the true size of the needle, but I was uncomfortable with the fact that I could see his entire hand in full focus, yet somehow I could still feel something piercing my gums.

I really have nothing against getting stuck with a needle when it is filled with Novocain. I know that it is always better than the alternative. Pain receptors have no business working during an operation, so if it takes a needle to make them take a vacation, so be it, but I was starting to feel uncomfortable as the dentist continued to push the needle down the length of my gums. Was I supposed to say "when"? The needle was approaching my tonsils and I was about to say something, or gurgle or something, when he decided he needed more Novocain. Now I was getting concerned. By the time he was done I thought I would need some Novocain to take away the pain from the Novocain.

The dentist thought this would be a good time to leave me alone so I could think about what I had done. As I sat looking at my truck outside the window, I marveled at the fact that I had willingly come here. I was actually paying for this experience. My right cheek started feeling like I had been punched in the face but wasn't feeling the pain yet. My tongue felt like it had slept on its arm wrong. I began to worry that I wouldn't be able to talk when the dentist came back, that I wouldn't be able to scream.

"Testing, testing, one two," I whispered. "Red rover, penguin, octopus. Lenny, Lucy, Larry. Yellow, watermelon. One two." I flicked my cheek and made a water drop sound. Good, I could still talk. But my mouth was getting worse. I didn't hear the dentist come back in because I was too busy not drooling.

"How does you mouth feel?"

"Okay." So far so good, but I had something important to say. "My right cheek feewls (crap, I was deteriorating) pw... pretty numb, but my left side feewls nowmle stiwl."

"That's alright," he explained. "I didn't give you any Novocain on the left side because that cavity is very small."

The thought entered my mind that this man may have been trained during wartime, when Novocain was rationed out by the government. Or maybe he was trying to save a few bucks wherever he could. Either way I was not pleased with his assessment, but saying the word "assessment" was out of the question at this point. Instead I gurgled and hoped for the best. I don't think he noticed.

I knew things were about to get serious when the dental assistant started putting on riot gear. She has pretty eyes, I thought, maybe she will protect me. Instead she put a vacuum cleaner attachment in my mouth. The dentist had something in his hand that looked like a tooth polisher; only instead of happy little bristles on the end it had a little metal drill. To be fair it was probably a happy little drill, but I was not glad to see it.

As I listened to the drill eat away at my tooth, and smelled the burning fumes coming out of my mouth, I thought back to the large needle. I imagined that I saw it standing upon a hillock across a large grassy field. I dropped my luggage and ran toward it as it ran toward me. In a furry of laughter and tears I jumped into its arms and it spun me around, and nothing mattered in the whole world but it and me, and me and it.

But there was still cavity number two, the one that had never felt the warm embrace of my friend the needle. After testing just how many metal objects he could fit in my mouth, and once his assistant was through blow drying my molar, the dentist started on the second cavity.

He started by spraying it with cold air. That felt very good, kind of like biting into an ice cream bar dipped in CO2. I gripped the chair like my mother had when I was making my grand entrance into the land where you chew your own food. I think there is some symbolism there. After that he played a little game that is kind of like Operation, in which you take a metal object and see how close you can get it to the nerve without hitting it while you scrape away at enamel. Whenever you mess up, instead of the board making a loud buzzing sound, the patient dies a little while his soul screams curses into the netherworld.

I was thinking the worst was over when the dentist handed me a pair of protective glasses.

"We're just going to clean out your tooth with something like a little sand blaster," he said.

Sand blasters hurt cement. I was opposed to the idea but my mouth had a Dyson in it (it never looses suction) and I only know half of the alphabet in sign language... not enough to sign "Hell No!"

It actually wasn't too bad once he got started, and when it was all said and done I was feeling pretty good about myself. The dental assistant kindly showed me to the door, where everyone was smiling because they take your money and never sit in that chair. Going home was kind of surreal. I felt like I should have a designated driver. As I mentioned earlier, my jaw was feeling like I had got out of hand with my boa constrictor impression again, but other than that I was alright.

Everything was alright, that is, until I tried eating lunch. But that is a story for another time.