So the other day, when I was preparing for work, I was doing a little flossing. I have not been a regular flosser, but I am trying to take better care of my teeth and gums (after hearing from a few friends that they needed gum grafts and deciding NO, THANK YOU!), so I took my little Reach flosser thing and went to town.
And then, while pulling the floss out from between two teeth, it happened. I heard something hard hit the mirror.
I immediately went into panic mode because I was assuming that a piece of my tooth had just broken free and went flying through the air. And while no one wants a tooth to break while she is preparing for work, I had a much more important reason for going into full-on freak-out mode. I haven't been to the dentist in a long time.
Like ten years type of long time. L-O-O-O-O-O-N-G time. Sooooooooooooooooooo long.
Yes, I am sufficiently ashamed of myself.
Anyway, I went running into the living room and started frantically grilling my husband about the dentist he had seen in an emergency a few years earlier (after a long absence of his own). Were they nice? Did they judge? Would I cry? Would they be gentle?
His answers all checked out, so I grabbed the phone to make a call. They were able to see me today at 2:00. I grabbed the appointment, stuck some gum in what I thought was a gaping hole in my tooth (albeit one that didn't hurt at all), and headed off to work.
Today, I had my visit. And they were nice, and they didn't judge, and I didn't cry. And they were very gentle. It turns out it was no tooth breaking free. It was tartar. I don't have to have anything done to fix the tooth because it didn't break. I dodged a bullet this time.
I go back on April 22 for the full complement of dental check-up services. That gives me another month or so of flossing and getting my gums in better shape. I am aware that I may need some work to get things back to normal, but I have taken the first step. I have made my triumphant return to the dentist.
And I am still standing...