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A final pimp for Detail Man, Part III.
I braved the dentist today. He eventually filled two cavities, but not before my customary paroxysm of terror over the damn dental needle. Apparently, my tongue kept pushing the needle out of my gum every time he tried to inject the anesthetic, and so I swallowed more than made it to the gum. He was worried that I'd received an insufficient amount to deaden the pain, but it turned out all right. For the record, dental anesthetic tastes like spinal fluid.
He was a bit pissy about the need for the spasticity do-cee-do with the injection; he insisted my tremors and twitching were nothing more than a hysterical overreaction and that I was using CP as an excuse for my baseless needle phobia.
Now, before other limpers get all up in wheels and insist I dump the unfeeling asshat immediately, understand that he's the only dentist I've found in twelve years whom I can afford, and if I have to endure twenty minutes of ignorance to get proper and affordable dental care, it's a choice I'm willing to make even if the wavering falsetto of idealism and righteous indignation says I shouldn't have to choose. If life were ideal, there wouldn't be so many of us waiting for a ride somewhere over the rainbow. Besides, his assertion, while indelicately phrased, isn't wholly inaccurate. My CP isn't responsible for my needle phobia. It merely exacerbates it.
So, now I have two fillings, a swollen gum, and an appointment for another round of fillings next month, the day after my birthday, as a matter of fact. Yes, it sucks, but at least it's not on my birthday, and when he's done, I won't have to go to bed wondering if I'm going to be pulled from a dead sleep by an angrily protesting tooth gone septic.
Now I'm going to veg and wait for Rehab: Party at the Hard Rock. The new manager pisses me off, and I want to see his smug, badass entrepreneur ass fail. Cockwad.
I braved the dentist today. He eventually filled two cavities, but not before my customary paroxysm of terror over the damn dental needle. Apparently, my tongue kept pushing the needle out of my gum every time he tried to inject the anesthetic, and so I swallowed more than made it to the gum. He was worried that I'd received an insufficient amount to deaden the pain, but it turned out all right. For the record, dental anesthetic tastes like spinal fluid.
He was a bit pissy about the need for the spasticity do-cee-do with the injection; he insisted my tremors and twitching were nothing more than a hysterical overreaction and that I was using CP as an excuse for my baseless needle phobia.
Now, before other limpers get all up in wheels and insist I dump the unfeeling asshat immediately, understand that he's the only dentist I've found in twelve years whom I can afford, and if I have to endure twenty minutes of ignorance to get proper and affordable dental care, it's a choice I'm willing to make even if the wavering falsetto of idealism and righteous indignation says I shouldn't have to choose. If life were ideal, there wouldn't be so many of us waiting for a ride somewhere over the rainbow. Besides, his assertion, while indelicately phrased, isn't wholly inaccurate. My CP isn't responsible for my needle phobia. It merely exacerbates it.
So, now I have two fillings, a swollen gum, and an appointment for another round of fillings next month, the day after my birthday, as a matter of fact. Yes, it sucks, but at least it's not on my birthday, and when he's done, I won't have to go to bed wondering if I'm going to be pulled from a dead sleep by an angrily protesting tooth gone septic.
Now I'm going to veg and wait for Rehab: Party at the Hard Rock. The new manager pisses me off, and I want to see his smug, badass entrepreneur ass fail. Cockwad.
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