The dentist – worse than driving down range
The stunner is that it's happening just as his deployment has ended, and it'll be just one more thing on the list of things that have to be crossed off before he's allowed to return home .
Part of me is glad he'll have it done on the other side of the country because, frankly, he's a little leery of any medical procedure, his or someone else's. Can I count the number of times he's told me how hard my labor was for him?
Combine that with the fact that he hasn't had any type of surgical procedure since a tonsillectomy when he was 7 and you have someone who's getting a little exercised about the whole thing. "I'd rather be in a convoy outside the wire than have these teeth taken out," he said.
That gave me a chance to be smug and sanctimonious, which probably wasn't smart given that Valentine's Day is right around the corner. "Oh come on," I said in what wasn't exactly my best supportive wife voice. "I had mine out when I was 17. And went to work that night. And they didn't put me to sleep."
"That's the problem. I don't want them to put me to sleep," he said.
Oh, yes you do. Take it from me, who was awake for most of the procedure. I say "most," because I kept attempting to pass out when I could no longer stand the constant nauseating "click, click, click, scrape" soooooooo close to my ear drum as they worked. Meanwhile, the old battle ax of a dental assistant kept slapping me awake. It's all responsible for creating the dental phobe I am today.
And he who thinks my labor was rough on him wants to do it wide awake? Bad idea.
I'm not in any position to say whether the dentist is scarier than driving through a war zone, but I will say that I'd rather give birth again than have someone dig into my mouth. At least at the end of labor, there's a baby. All you get from oral surgery are chipmunk cheeks and recurring nightmares.
Copyright 2011 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.