29-Years-Old and Still Drooling

Dentists are pure evil.

On Monday I (Ben) had to go in to their lair of wickedness to have four (4!) cavities filled.

Stop there.

Let me be clear on something first: I was 23-years-old (or older) when I got my first cavity. That means I survived a 2-year mission in the Philippines without a problem. And let's be real, that place can be nasty. Especially for a missionary living like the locals (albeit a little bit more well-off). The food, the water (the filthy, nasty waters), and everything else there just lives to rot your teeth. And I got out scot-free.

And then, two years after I got home, I had one (count 'em, one!) cavity. After that, nothing! Not until now, at least.

Which brings us back to the topic at hand: Evil dentists.

So I had four cavities: three on the left side (top and bottom) and one on my bottom right. The dentist numbed the bottom right and top left portions of my face. He didn't numb the bottom left because, according to him, "It's pretty small so we'll see if we can do it without numbing it." Apparently he didn't want to freeze my entire face. What a nice guy. But my favorite bit was when he said, "Let me know if it hurts."

And then he proceeded to drill into my un-numbed tooth.

I just lay there, bracing for that moment when the drill would shoot through the tooth and into my jaw. Fortunately that never happened, but I did flinch a number of times because, well, it did hurt.

"Does that hurt?" the dentist would ask.

"Mhafegm," I would respond (keep in mind, half my face was numb, and my mouth was propped open with some new-fangled, sci-fi jaw propper-opener thingy).

He gave his condolences, said he was almost done, and to let him know if it kept hurting.

"Mghshjksbm."

So again he began excavating my tooth and again I began flinching (but not saying anything, because I'm a tough rugby player who eats pain for breakfast. Or is it my middle name? I can never remember). Anyway, to make a short story long (too late for that, I'm afraid), he stopped, realized the hole was bigger than he first thought (n00b), and decided to numb that part of my face after all.

So there I was, 3/4 of my face numb, drool quite possible leaking out of my gaping maw, unable to recognize the steady flow of drool because my face was so numbed up. Fortunately though the rest of the procedure went as planned and I was quickly shuffled out of the operating room and into the front to pay.

I think people at the dentist office have a sick sense of humor. They love talking to you when it's blatantly obvious that you cannot answer back with even a single clear syllable.

"How would you like to pay for that?"

"Chfjoke."

"I'll assume you said your soul. Have a nice day!"

But yeah, I paid and got the heck out of there. The numbness lasted at least four hours, during which time I had dinner (or rather, dinner had me. I could not for the life of me find my mouth to insert food), gave the FHE lesson (which who knows if Jill understood a word of it), and biked across town to tour a pioneer museum. Right when I thought my face would be frozen that way forever (just like Mom used to threaten me with if I ever made rude faces), the numbness melted away. I'm saved!

The moral of this story, folks, is this: Don't get cavities. And if you do, don't tell anyone.