A Confession

It has been over a year since I last visited the dentist. Yes, it's true. I know it's a huge cliche...but I hate going. Hate it. There are three reasons for this:

1) I still have my wisdom teeth. And no dentist visit is ever complete without a doctor peering worriedly at my x-rays while pointing out the obvious, "You know you've got some wisdoms in there. We really should get those guys out before they push against your back teeth causing complete chaos and destruction in your mouth." (Actually, my dentist never says that last bit but for whatever reason, that's what I hear). Let me be clear: I DO NOT want to have my wisdom teeth pulled.

2) I'm a grinder and a clencher. No idea what I'm talking about? Then you're lucky. In a nutshell, I clench and grind my teeth in my sleep. Not only does this leave me with a frequently sore jaw in the morning (and at high risk for lock jaw), it handily strips my molars of all protective enamel coating. Which brings me to my final point...

3) I am highly prone to getting cavities. This generally means many of my dentist appointments end up with an up close and personal visit with a needle.

The rational person will probably read this list and think, "All the more reason for you to go to the dentist on a regular basis! What's your problem?!"

But I, sadly, am far from rational when it comes to the dentist. To put it mildly, I am frequently reduced to a quivering mass of fear when I receive one of those "It's been six months!" reminder cards in the mail. I have no idea why. I've never really had a traumatic dentist visit that I can think of. Well, except for ten years ago when I went to my first (and last) appointment at a dentist of Russian Jewish descent. I had no idea about the Russian Jewish part...until she spotted the book I'd brought in which was, very unfortunately for me, entitled: Explaining Hitler. Never mind that it was written by a Jewish guy who was trying to understand what happened in Hitler's early life that led to the Holocaust. The title and, dare I say, cute cover photo of Hitler as a baby most certainly did not endear me to the dentist. (true story, BTW).

Anyway, you get my point.

So now I'm in a state. Or more accurately, my teeth are in a state. I know for a fact that I've got some, shall we say, problem areas. It's difficult to ignore when you find yourself only chewing your food on one side of your mouth. And the very rational part of me knows that the longer I put off the inevitable, the worse it will be for me. So why the f--k can't I get up the courage to make the damn appointment?!? Do I really want to have false teeth by the time I'm 40?

Maybe I'm feeling guilty for not visiting as frequently as I should. Maybe I should find a new dentist, start fresh. And come up with a reasonable sounding cover story for him/her to explain the poor quality of my teeth, "Yes, I know they're in a sorry state. Truth is, I've been living in the UK*/a cave/on a desert island for two years..."

Ugh. Now that I've written this down, I realize how ridiculous I sound. I just need to get off my ass, stop being a wuss, and make the damn appointment. Or accept the fact that if I don't, I may soon have less teeth than my 7-mos old daughter.

*I felt compelled to belatedly add this quick note in case I inadvertently pissed off my British readers. Bad teeth jokes aside, I suspect there are large numbers of British folks out there with much better teeth than me.