Spit please!

The boys and I finally made it to the dentist today. It's been long overdue. Our six-month appointments were scheduled for last December but, in our family, neurosurgery trumps gum scraping. (See Feb. '08 blog for explanation).

I am no rookie when it come to dentists. I spent some grueling Junior High and High School years with the dreaded orthodontic braces. Forget that I had to have eight teeth pulled so the rest would fit into my petite little mouth. (I can hear you laughing out there - stop it!). You have never felt mouth pain until you have had metal braces pounded up into your gums and then removed so the Ortho could look at them and then pounded up there again. It was a scene straight out of Marathon Man. That lovely part of the whole proceedure comes only after choking on the over-filled mouth tray of impression cement and just before wincing from the ever tightening rubber bands of horror forcing your canines into places they do not want to go. Ah yes, good times, good times...

Today wasn't quite so brutal. I was comforted by my 8-year old son while I lay there, upside down. He held my hand as the hygienist worked, saying comforting things like:

"Does that hurt? What is that silver thing? You're bleeding. I don't' like blood. That looks really painful."

I didn't even get anything out of the prize basket when I was done.