My Phobia Of Dentists Could Rip Your Jaw off and Beat It With a Stick

They finally got me. I’d been avoiding going to the dentist. The military has it set up that avoiders like me can only avoid for so long. And so something pinged on the higher-ups radar and I had to make an appointment. Dental Exam and Cleaning. *Shudder*

THIS. IS. WORSE. THAN. CLOWNS!

Last night, before the appointment, I had trouble sleeping. My stomach was in knots and I kept having the poop butterflies like I do when I have to speak in front of people. I kept waking up every 15 minutes or so, trying to figure out how much time I had before the dreaded appointment. By the time I got up and left the house, I had to turn around because I’d forgotten my military ID. And my sanity. My hands were shaking. I could barely talk when I finally got to the front and checked in. My jaw (and already irritated gums) was aching from clenching my jaw all night and morning. And then… I finally sit down with the nurse.

“I got to tell you something before you start.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“If you plan to even touch my mouth without knocking me out, you are going to have to tie me down.”

 

You see, I never liked the dentist before – who does? They are torture experts. Everything in their office is straight out of a horror movie, or a POW camp. But I used to be able to deal with it, until my last deployment.

 

See, I’d held onto my wisdom teeth for a while. The military usually likes to yank those bad boys out as soon as you join. But mine weren’t above the gums, or bothered me at all. Until a couple of years ago. And so, before deployment, I was in the doctor’s office. With an abscess in my gums but 2 wisdom teeth (and a tooth beside them) needed to be pulled right away. The doctor there said he didn’t have time to put me under because some blah-blah-bullspit about needing some months after surgery to check up on me. So he was going to just shoot me full of novacane… or lidocaine (one of those cane numbing medicines) and take out the teeth.

 

Have I mentioned that I have a super high tolerance for pain meds… and with already having a medical condition that creates abscesses throughout my body – I know that with an abscess you CANNOT numb the whole area. On top of that, my gums are usually so sensitive that they numb me up for regular cleanings.

 

He numbed me, and started. I stopped him. “Ah cun stew fweel evweyding.!” So he numbs some more. “Ah CUN STEWL FWEEL!!!” And he numbs some more. “OWWWWWWWW.” And he says

 

“You’ll just have to deal with it.”

 

MUTHATRUCKIN WHA—–

 

There is nothing in the pain I’ve felt in the past that could compare to that time in the dentist chair. Feeling EVERYTHING as he used his saw, drill, and whatever else he had to remove those teeth. The feeling of the tooth being cracked and scraped and ripped from my jaw, the sounds, the pressure, the pain as I fought to stay still as my whole body was lifted over and over as he struggled to pull out those teeth.

 

Tears ran freely down my face. I felt HELL, and hell was a dentist’s chair.

 

Imagine being able to feel that crap. All of it.

 

I tried to find a happy place. I tried to tell myself that anything hurt more: childbirth or something. That the pain was all in my head. All the while this bastard has not tried to have any finesse and treats me like a dead animal that can’t feel.

 

Can you understand why I would avoid the dental demon doctor? It took me about 2 weeks to recover from that. And now they have the other 2 wisdom teeth that need to be pulled. Today, just during my exam my pulse was over 120 (which apparently is not good. They took it a second time and it was 117. Better? Who the frack knows, I’m not a doctor).

Luckily, this is not the same military base of pain that was the one that tried to torture me. These people today LISTENED. They gave me MEDICINE. They gave me PAIN stuffs so that hopefully I can get this infection down before they start the cutting, and sawing, and demolishment on my mouth.

 

I swear though… if they don’t stop when I have pain and try something else, I will fully give over to a psychotic break.

Ooh, That Hurts So Good – Tattogasms and the Pain Element

So, I’m not a masochist.

Okay, actually, I am, but not in like an “I have a dungeon that I yell out ‘Spank Me, Spank Me!’ all night long.”

I just like a little bit of pain, in and out the bedroom. I don’t see nothing wrong with it, in the smexy room, as long as its consenting adults. And outside of the bedroom, well that’s where tats and piercings come in.

I have 9 piercings: 3 in each ear, nose, and the girl giggles. I got those back when I was 20 after a guy I really wanted to look beautiful for said I would be a perfect woman if I wasn’t so flat chested ( was really skinny and my B cup had went to an A). And because I’m a special kind of crazy, to deal with my depression over being a member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, but not wanting fake boobs, I decided to decorate them.

Just add danglies!

I finally took them (the giggles decorations) out after about 10 years. Not because I didn’t like them anymore, but because I grew happy with my fate of a b-cup. But the piercing, oh god. The day I went in I will always remember. None of the other piercings hurt, just a quick twinge. The giggles? That way like a stab all the way to my soul. And it made those darn things so sensitive, like never before. I’d have to stop myself from playing with them in public, because it was just so fun.

I also have 4 tattoos, on my arms and back. Every time, for the tats at least, I ended up enjoying the feel of the needle. Afterwards, I’d be relaxed like… smexy times. The first time it happened, I figured it was a fluke. That was with one of my arm tats. Then I got the first one on my back a year or so later. Oh My Sweet Baby Jesus.

It was Heaven. It was honestly mentally and emotionally orgasmic. It was a physical release of all the stress and sadness and anger and depression my young self had built up.

I seriously said to the artist afterwards, in a somewhat breathy voice “Thank you so much. I needed that.”

It lasted much longer than a traditional “gasm” too. For months, if someone ran their hand along my back where the tattoo was located, it gave me some iiiiinteresting shivers. And the same happened whenever I got the next couple of tats: tattoogasms. The pain, not exactly pain, but a deep kiss and bite through my skin.

Is it any wonder that some years after my last tattoo that I say I want another? Tattoos and piercings ARE addictive in their own way, for me anyways. And not because of the decoration. But for the intense feelings they bring. Nope, I don’t have a whip and leather, or a dungeon for someone to spank me, but I do have an outlet every once in a while for that want of a little nice pain. Don’t worry, I never say to the artist “Hurt me Tattoo Master! Hurt me so good!”

Um, that would just be weird. No telling what I’m thinking when I’m in that chair though 😉

I’m not sure about this reality… May be rejected in 3…2…1

This is a whiny post…warning, whiny levels set up to 11!

Things are looking slightly sideways to me. I mean that figuratively, although it was quite literal maybe 2 days ago. So I got good but bad news. My CT scan on my chest was normal.

Yay! Except…

My X-rays are normal, my MRI is normal, but my back hurts so bad I was just stuck on the couch when I was trying to get up to go potty. I’m taking a mix of percocet, flerxeril, and motrin 800 (the military’s favorite candy. They really should sponsor military commercials). That mix is just so I can function at about 75 percent. So I don’t try to roll up in a ball to block out life, scream in pain because my back didn’t like the contortion and is now spazzing and doing the macarena in my skin ( I wish it would do a less energetic dance, like a simple two-step, sheesh). This SHITtake mushroom is not just in my head! So what is it? Doc doesn’t know, I don’t know. But I keep shuffling on.

It’s making it very hard to want to anything, and like I mentioned before, I’m adding on pounds like a fatty in a Krispy Kreme. Right now I’m “curvy” but this could EASILY turn into a BBW situation. I don’t want that. The military doesn’t want that either. Especially since they’re on their “cut down the military” kick. I’m in a teaching position right now, but what if fate somehow threw a deployment my way again? I can’t carry my own weight with my back, let alone Kevlar plates.

The only thing it probably IS helping is my teaching nervousness. Seriously, I’m so high in there that I’m surprised I get all of my words out. But I’m kind of in there, floating, and not really caring as much, an my teaching becomes smoother…well, except for dry mouth. Maybe everyone should be high while teaching? Hmmm, maybe not. I know I am the rare breed that can actually function and drive and teach while drugged up.

So… Its back to physical therapy, and making an appointment with the acupuncturist. And maybe chiropractor. I’m not above a voodoo doctor right about now. Dang it, I’ve got an anime convention to attend this weekend, and I’ve got to be able to pose for the camera!