My dentist said I hurt his feelings.

For the record, he hurt mine first.

Let’s start from the beginning, though…

I woke up on Wednesday morning, the day of my wisdom teeth extraction (and also Valentines Day) feeling the onset of a panic attack, which I’m prone to.

Since I was instructed to not eat or drink anything – even water – eight hours before the surgery, I knew I couldn’t take a Xanax, so I calmed myself down on my own. How? By telling myself that I didn’t have to go through with the surgery.

So I lay there in bed, contemplating how to tell Mr. Routine when he woke up that, hey, thanks for taking the day off of work to bring me to the dentist, but I’m not going. I’m calling it off.

After lying in bed for a while longer, though, I started to give myself a little pep talk. Self, I said, it’s about time to act like an adult and face your fears.

I mean, not only did I have my family rooting me on, but I had all my new blogger friends behind me, too (thankfully holding off on their wisdom teeth horror stories).

And so I decided I would go through with it. Why delay the inevitable? I thought.

Besides, Mr. Routine and I had been watching The Hills on MTV a couple nights before, and Whitney, one of the girls on the show, had had her wisdom teeth removed. If she could do it, Mr. Routine assured me, surely so could I.

On the way to the dentist, I had that nervous feeling in my stomach. I was wishing that my regular dentist performed this kind of surgery (he doesn’t, so he had to refer me to another dentist) because my dentist is young and friendly, and he lets you watch television on a flat screen T.V. while you’re there.

The dentist performing my surgery has his office in a building straight out of the 70’s – it’s like a wood and paneling nightmare.

Once we got there, though, I tried to stay calm. I told Mr. Routine that I was going to owe $75 for the X-ray they had taken during my consultation a few weeks ago, and he went on a rant about our insurance. I assured him that our dental insurance woes weren’t exactly in the forefront of my mind, what with the impending extractions and all, but he didn’t really seem to understand.

I wished I had brought my mom with me instead.

Once I was called in, the dental assistants* got to work on me right away. I could tell one of them was in a bad mood. What gave it away? She (I’ll call her Assistant #1) asked where someone was, and when the other assistant (Assistant #2) replied that that person wasn’t in yet, Assistant #1 said she was going to, “smash someone today.”

Yes, that’s a direct quote.

OK, so I’m the kind of person who needs to feel at ease during uncomfortable procedures. And I wasn’t exactly feeling at ease at the time.

Both assistants were hooking me up to all kinds of doodads – velcro straps around my wrist, wires hooked up to the straps – and I was asking what everything was for.

I mean, I know that these things are routine for them, but they aren’t for me, so I just wanted to be a little informed.

“This is to monitor your heartrate.”

“This is to monitor your breathing.”

It was all happening so fast – and with such haste, it seemed – that my heart was racing and my breathing was getting faster and faster.

Assistant #3 came in the room, and I asked her if I would be completely knocked out or if I would know what was going on around me.

She told me that it depends on how I reacted to the medication… some people want to be able to talk to them while it’s going on, while others prefer to be out completely.

“I want to be out completely,” I said. But it didn’t seem like they were really paying attention to me all that much.

Then the dentist flew into the room and said a very quick hello. As Assistant #2 strapped an oxygen mask around my face, the dentist started putting a tourniquet around my arm. “I’m going to put the IV in now,” he said.

I suddenly found my voice. “OK, this is all happening very fast. I would just like to know what’s going on,” I said.

The activity in the room stopped, and the dentist looked at me blankly. “OK. You’re. here. to. get. your. wisdom. teeth. out. I’m. putting. a. tourniquet. around. your. arm. and. I’m. going. to. put. the. IV. in.”

That’s how he said it – slow and patronizingly.

I explained that I have hard veins to find, and that I’d rather everything go just a bit slower.

“Actually, we are going very slow. And who told you that you have hard veins to find?” he asked.

“Practically everyone who has ever taken blood from me,” I replied. “And I just feel very rushed.”

“Well, if you had let me put the IV in when I first wanted to, it would be in right now, and you wouldn’t feel rushed,” he said cockily.

That was it. “OK,” I said, “I’m not doing this today. “

There was confusion all around. What did I mean?

“You’re being very condescending towards me, and I don’t appreciate it. I’m telling you I’m scared, I feel rushed, I want to know what’s going on, and you just aren’t listening to me. I’m going home.” And with that, I started to take off all the doodads.

Probably concerned mostly about the money he wouldn’t be getting that day, the dentist suddenly went into caring mode, and told the assistants that he would step out while they talked to me and helped me settle down.

Of course, as soon as he left, I broke into tears. And all of a sudden the assistants went from blase to my best friends.

Assistant #3 sat down next to me and took my hand. “Are you nervous?” she asked.

WAS SHE KIDDING ME!? I nodded yes.

“How long have you been putting this off?” she asked.

“About seven years,” I told her. “All of this just makes me very uncomfortable, and I just want to know what’s going on every step of the way.” LIKE I’D BEEN TELLING THEM ALL ALONG!

I finally got all the information I was looking for… all three of them explained every part of the procedure – what all the doodads were for, what medication would be put into the IV, what the medication would feel like as it went in, how long it would take for me to be put under, how long the surgery would take – everything I’d wanted to know from the beginning.

A few minutes went by, and the dentist stuck his head in. “I have a message from your husband,” he said.

I was hoping it would be something sweet like, “I love you and I will be here to take care of you when you’re done.”

Instead the message he relayed was: “Whitney did it, so can you.”

Music to my ears.

I wished even more that I had brought my mom instead.

In any case, I decided to go through with the surgery. The dentist was a bit more gentle with me, and the assistants were actually great. They held my hand as the IV went in, and then as the novicaine went in.

I actually do remember bits and pieces of the extraction (he did, after all, yank the shit out of my jaw), but I was too medicated for it to hurt or to make too much of an impression on me. I was pretty much in la la land.

When I woke up, Assistant #1 took me into another room to give me the dos and don’ts of post-surgery.

That’s when the dentist poked his head into the room again. “How are you feeling?”

I gave him the thumbs up (I was a little too swollen to talk).

“You hurt my feelings,” he said.

If I hadn’t felt like I was about to swallow my tongue, I would have told him he could shove it up his ass… but alas, all I could muster was a shrug.

Luckily, since my teeth weren’t impacted, I didn’t need any stitches, and so far (it’s been 3 days since the surgery) everything has been fine (knock on wood)! I’ve been following all the directions they gave me, so hopefully that continues to pay off.

Thank goodness for Codeine and ice, though.

Of course, the best medicine has been my babies, Big Boy and Poopy Girl, giving me tons of Mama kisses and love.  They are such calming forces.  If they had been allowed to go into the surgery room with me, they would have kept me totally relaxed the entire time.

I have to go back to the dentist for a check-up next Wednesday.

I’ll try not to hurt his feelings again… but I’m not making any promises.

I apologize, but I don’t know the correct term for the women helping the dentist out – are they hygienists or dental assistants? For the purpose of this post, since they were assisting my dentist, they are called dental assistants.