My First Root Canal
"Dan Cooley, survived by four children and one wife (that we know of), portable church pastor and one-book author, tragically dies while pinned to dental chair."
40 years ago my older sister Janice came home from the dentist talking about her root canal. The vivid images of pain seared themselves into my young head. I associated root canals with hell. Thursday I went there.
About three weeks ago my back teeth on the left side started hurting. Thinking it would go away I did nothing. It didn't go away.
A few nights later when I was flossing the floss seemed to hang up on a big filling back there. I was paranoid the filling was coming loose. I started wearing my retainers only every other night for fear one morning I'd pull my bottom retainer off and find my filling inside. After a week or so I decided to call my dentist.
It was Wednesday and his phone machine said, "Thank you for calling. Dr. ___ is at a training seminar in Florida. We will return to normal office hours on Tuesday April 12th." I wonder if they learn anything on the beaches in Florida – well, anything about dentistry. If they went to seminars on Baffin Island they might actually attend. Anyhow, I foolishly decided to wait until Tuesday in order to see my own dentist.
The next day I was popping Advil like a momma Guppy eating her young. I decided to call on Friday, my day off, to find another dentist. Any dentist. A 6-month dental school drop-out who was good would a pair of pliers would do. What I didn't know is that dentist offices close on Friday. I popped more Advil.
I found an emergency dental clinic open on weekends and made an appointment for Saturday night. But by Saturday noon the Advil seemed to be working. Maybe the pain would go away on its own. I canceled and waited.
Advil got me through the weekend, so I went back to plan A, and waited until my dentist came in on Tuesday to get help. Relief was in sight – or so I thought.
The dentist saw me in first thing Tuesday. The teeth cleaning proved two things. One, the filling wasn't loose. Two, there were new levels of pain yet to experience in my lower left jaw. Then came the bad news.
The dentist couldn't locate the source of the pain. The X-rays showed perfectly fine teeth. The pain after the cleaning stretched from my left eye to my knee. There was no way to figure out which tooth it was. I bought more Advil.
On Wednesday I had endured enough pain. No more waiting. I called the dentist back and got the name of a specialist. They said to check out a specialist in endodontics. I asked them to spell it. I called. They took me in on 2:30 Thursday afternoon (the next day). I took more Advil and waited.
I arrived at 2:32. While waiting to be inspected and led to hell I read a National Geographic article on the Incas. They had pictures of their mummies. They looked to have had really good teeth.
It took the specialist all of three minutes to find the bad tooth. I said to myself, "Self," I said, "I bet he doesn't go to seminars in Florida." Then he gave me the option of having a root canal, or writhing in excruciating pain for a few months as my nerve died, and then going through the gruesome procedure of having my tooth yanked out of my jaw. I popped a few Advil and waited.
About 30 seconds later I said "Go for it. Bring your hell!" But not those exact words.
Hell's vestibule consisted of 3-4 shots with what looked to me to be an 8" needle. I had visions of it going through my neck, through the plastic chair cover, and getting stuck in the cotton underneath. Then what would happen when he tried to pull it out? "Dan Cooley, survived by four children and one wife (that we knew of), portable church pastor and one-book author, tragically dies while pinned to dental chair."
Actually, there was less hurt than when my dentist stabs me for a filling. Then they left me alone to shake in fear and try to read about the strong-toothed Incas as the medicine did its thing. Instead I wrote shaky notes down on 3X5 cards so I could remember the process for my blog.
When they came back they gave me lip balm.
And safety glasses
And a bib.
And told me to lift my left hand if I was losing it.
I got up and put my keys into my jacket. I didn't want to forget my jacket in my ecstasy when leaving later. All I could think about was leaving later.
It's a weird process. No pain, but freakishly bizarre. It all started with a lie.
I asked how long it would take. 30-40 minutes they said. That's a long hell, not eternal maybe, but it sounded long to me. And they were lying.
The doctor took out a small grease-gun and started pumping me full of more drugs. No pain, but lots of fear going through my gums with the greasy medicine. Seven times he stabbed me and pumped me full of something. The bad – I feel it today (Saturday). The great – I felt nothing then.
Next they took what looked to me like a 4" square cut out of a lime green hot-water bottle, and stick it over my tooth with some kind of hose clamp thing. The Chap Stick kept the water bottle from sticking to my lips. They even let me take the rest of the tube home. It's my first $550.00 tube of Chap Stick.
Next the doctor drilled through the top of the tooth, stopping often to make certain I felt nothing. Then I saw another needle coming at me. This was a fuzzy needle. All I could do was watch, there was nowhere else to look, and closing my eyes seemed even more terrifying. Why doesn't somebody make a way to broadcast movies into the inside covers of those safety goggles? It would be way better than watching the spit and blood splat on the outside. And better than wondering why the needle looked fuzzy.
Having been foolish enough to read about the process before going to hell, I realized this inch-long fuzzy needle was actually a mini-blender with blades going up its entire length. Into the tooth it went. I wondered if it was coming out the bottom of my chin. Again – no pain but great fear.
OK, this is weird. As I am writing, my tooth which now has no nerve left, is throbbing in sympathy. Bizarre.
When he was done with the porcupine brush, there was cleaning and x-rays, and a temporary filling, and the most painful part of all. The cost.
I could have put new 31" BF Goodrich shoes on all 4 feet of my Jeep Wrangler for what hell cost. Of course, that was less than I would have spent on Advil in the next month.
And they lied – it took 22 minutes.
Janice lied too. Hell it isn't. I'm glad I did it. I'm gladder it's done.
Don't forget to floss.
Danielcooley.com
