So, I Declined The Gas

^^^ where I wished I was instead of the dentist 

This past weekend I decided to have a major dental overhaul on a Saturday. Why Saturday? Well because I'm vying for the world's greatest employee award, that's why. Or maybe it is because I have a ton of trips planned over the next three months and I feel like I should not press my luck. Either way, Saturday it was, for the dental overhaul. 

I've never really been the dentist's bestie -- actually based on the amount of money I just shelled out, I'm 100% his bestie right now. Should I say rather, I'm not his/her star pupil. I brush my teeth morning and night, but I'm really very poor about getting regular checkups. As in, I hadn't gotten my teeth checked up since 2010. I probably shouldn't be writing this on the internet but I've always been transparent on here so why stop now. I suck, I know. I just really hate the dentist. 

I'm going to clarify that last sentence. I am not scared of the dentist, I just hate it. I'm sorry if you are a dentist, but the dentists I've been to, thus far, have told me I will die if I don't get X, X and X treatment RIGHT NOW. That is odd to me. It's not like a regular doctor where I know something is wrong or hurting, and I'll take his/her advice right away. Nothing hurts, so why am I'm just supposed to believe you that you need to drill into my skull no later than two weeks from now? 

Seeing as they already made me gag 48 times during the x-rays, I certainly was OUT on getting a second opinion, so in I went on a Saturday for a root canal. I'd never had a root canal, and certainly had no idea what to expect. I'm not scared of needles, so I declined the laughing gas stuff. This is irrational, but one of my biggest fears is saying dumb shit on laughing gas. I have a wild imagination, and I'm sure I'd conjure up some story abut being a massive drug dealer and having a meth lab in my basement and then next thing you know I'm in a holding cell over a root canal. 

So, I declined the gas. Yikes. Poor choice. 

I don't have any crazy fear of needles, so I didn't freak out as they shot my mouth up. Everyone then left the room, and told me they'd be back later. Then I panicked. 

My lips went numb and I made the terrible mistake of touching my face, which felt like it was the size of a beach ball. My lips felt like sausage links. 

I started balling crying, alone in this room. I was CERTAIN that my face would never return to normal size. I literally thought, my face is going to be stuck like this and CB is going to leave me and I won't have anywhere to live. As if he would do that?!? As if my face would be stuck?!?! Sigh. 

I then tried to calm myself down, but all I could think about next was that I was going to swallow my tongue and die. I cried. I cried a lot. I cried a lot because I thought I was going to swallow my tongue and die. OMG WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME. 

This fear continued for the next four hours, but I relaxed whenever the dentist or tech was in the room. I felt comforted knowing that if they saw my tongue go the wrong direction, they'd catch it and pull it back up before I died. Literally, that was my thought process. I'm not embellishing. 

And I worried CB would leave me because of my face.... psht. We've got bigger fish to fry here.

Long story short (lols-- jk, I've already made it long) one root canal turned into two and here I am, tongue intact and face about as normal as I could hope for. CB picked me up with the finest soup in Dallas and I continued to cry on his shoulder well after the procedure was done. I'm crazy. 

And then, after I climbed in his truck as we drove off, I checked the score of the Vols game at halftime and realized that the near loss of a tongue and two root canals was probably more fun than watching that first half against Ohio University. 

P.S. I told Gee how painful the two Root Canals were, and he gave me the middle finger and responded, "Karma is a BITCH, I have like one tooth left thanks to you, woman."