Doing the dentist with Julia Roberts ...

Recently I lost a contest, and half a large filling, to a piece of butterscotch candy. I was in the theater watching a Julia Roberts movie. There was a scene in her bedroom. That’s when I popped the candy into my mouth. Clothes started coming off. I chomped down hard — too hard.
     After a couple of times around on the pain-denial loop, I went to my dentist. When advised he hadn’t seen me for two years, I pulled out a general-purpose excuse note from my mother that I’ve kept in my wallet since 1965.
     Julia Roberts and I go to the same dentist. I’m not sure she’s a patient, but she’s always there to hold my hand when I visit. Could be the nitrous.
     When I was a kid, going to the dentist was an exercise in pain. You got a lollipop for being a “big boy” and not crying. Now that I am a big boy, well-versed in mouth pain, I discover that everyone gets a lollipop regardless of what happens.
     My dentist, who shall remain unnamed here so he can’t sue me, is a nice guy and very thoroughly explains how and why he’s going to take me to a whole new level of pain. Actually, the dentist isn’t the person to worry about. A few minutes after he enters the room you’ll be mouth-numb and won’t be able to drink out of one side of your mouth for the rest of the day. It’s word-of-mouth advertising.
“Hey, who did that to you?”
“Dr. (Still Unnamed Dentist)”
     The person to watch for is the dental hygienist whom you’ll see five or six times more often than the dentist. It’s the hygienist who’s in your mouth most often, and she doesn’t use xylocaine. The hygienists I’ve encountered all have advanced degrees in pain mismanagement.
My dentist uses nitrous oxide. I thought it was to help with the pain. Turns out, the gas is used to relax you so you won’t flail your arms when the dentist strikes a nerve. You get offered nitrous for sure if you outweigh the dentist.
     Here’s how it went, nitrous and all:
     Dr. (Still Unnamed) prepares to remove the damaged filling and fit my tooth for a new crown. He puts a rubber fixture over my nose to deliver the nitrous and headphones on my head to deliver classical music, which is nice, but I miss the lollipops.
     As I float across the lilting chords of a Mozart Sonata, he swabs my mouth with a local anesthetic, which only deadens my watch-out-something’s-coming senses. Then — YEEOOOW! — the xylocaine needle attacks my gums. A few minutes later, the entire lower-left side of my jaw is numb, with less feeling than Simon, the mean guy on American Idol.
     “Just lift your tongue a little,” says the dentist. Does he know to whom he’s talking? I not only can’t lift my tongue, I can’t even locate it.
     He’s using a high-speed drill, which has a piercing sound that would make my teeth itch if I could find them. I can’t, so I go back to Mozart. The drill requires a lot of water to keep it cool. The dentist’s hands move and block the suction tube he calls Mr. Thirsty. Too much water! My mouth can’t remember how to swallow. Mr. Thirsty, I need you!
     I always imagined different ways I might die: a shark attack while surfing in Hawaii, a parachute that wouldn’t open at 15,000 feet, choking on a rack of ribs in New Orleans. But drowning in a dentist’s chair with an disabled Mr. Thirsty in my mouth?
     The dentist’s hands move and Mr. Thirsty sucks to the rescue. I survive, more than survive because Julia, with her impeccable timing, has just entered my nitrous-fumed world. Hi, Julia.
     Did you ever notice dentists always suggest future treatments at the end of your session, after you’ve been under the nitrous for a while?
“Next time can we do some deep cleansing?”
“Sure.” Boy that dress looks nice on you.
“You may need another crown or two. Is that OK?”
“Yes.” Julia! What are you doing with that lollipop?
“Or I just might replace your whole jaw with a titanium transplant. Always wanted to try that. OK with you?”
Yes, Julia, yes!