Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Positive Attitude

It wasn’t a cavity after all.
But I had already prepared myself
for him to tell me that it was.
Besides, what else could be making my tooth sensitive to hot and cold?
Every time I drank hot tea I felt like
I was getting electrocuted.
Isn’t that what they always ask at the dentist?
“Is it sensitive to hot and cold? Then it’s probably a cavity.”
I’ve heard that for years,
just like, “if he doesn’t call you back, he’s not interested.”
So after a couple of weeks of cringing upon contact,
my mind started imagining the worst.
Not only did I have a cavity, I had a cavity that was on the verge of needing a root canal.
I kept opening my mouth and staring at my back teeth in the mirror,
but I never saw anything, except for some kale and a piece of radish.
I poked a fork in my back molar,
trying to find a deep crevice,
but found nothing.
For weeks I looked and poked and imagined
the worst.
Finally, I called the dentist,
and prepared for the inevitable Novocain shot.
Should I take valium before I go?
No, what if I felt sick from it?
No sense in pre-medicating before I knew for sure.
Better just go in and be brave, I thought.
My regular dentist was out of town, as usual,
(probably skiing in Aspen or something),
so I saw one of the other partners.
I told him that my tooth had been bothering me off and on since last year when I bit into a piece of very cold seaweed in this Chinese restaurant in Seattle.
He looked at me strangely.
I expected him to ask me why I waited so long to come in.
Instead, he looked at me and said,
“Why would you want to eat seaweed?”
This coming from someone who is obviously a huge carnivore,
and one Whopper away from bi-pass surgery.
He blew air on my tooth, poked around, and then had me grind my molars on this carbon-like strip.
“Bingo”, he said, “you’ve got a bruised tooth.”
I didn’t know that a tooth could get a bruise, but if it meant I didn’t have a cavity,
I was happy to hear about it.
Seems I’ve been banging my teeth in my sleep he said.
He pulled out his drill and filed my top molar down a bit.
Then he had his assistant slather my teeth
with some de-sensitizing liquid that tasted like
(what I can only imagine)
paint thinner would taste like.
Sixty dollars later, I was cured.
I was cured.
No fillings.
No shot.
And no need to think the worst.