I remember way back when during a during a football game
towards the end of a championship season, I felt compelled enough by my
enthusiasm for the game that I threw my body into an open field tackle. I came
out the other side of it with the other team’s running back cartwheeling
through the air and me with a slightly wonky finger that didn’t look or operate
the way it was supposed to. Similar to
most people who go through this, the immediate reaction at seeing a part of
their body where it isn’t supposed to be, is a little confusion with the
realization that something is not right with this picture. Like most on field
injuries, the pain hadn’t really set in, the result likely of the adrenaline
from competition and the shock that the tendons just went through. This, of course, was back in the woolly old
days when youths were not quite as coddled as they are now. I am sure in today’s’
world, I would have been wrapped in some sort of soothing cocoon and then
airlifted to the nearest emergency hospital.
But back then the coach, or the assistant coach, which in reality was
the Geography teacher and the Latin teacher, respectively, took my hand,
grasped my wayward finger in his fist and said, “This might hurt a bit, but it
isn’t as bad as a root canal”. From that moment on, I could only imagine the
searing and most horrendous pain a root canal could bring on. That description
was locked into my brain and those words etched into my memory in a way that my
teachers wished that the conjugation of Latin verbs would be.
This tale bears influence when years later while ensconced in
a Star Wars like reclining chair with a mouthful of metal and a bright light
shining in my eyes, I heard my dentist tut-tuting a bit, then said the words
that struck fear to the very bottom of my soul, “I think we either have to do a
root canal, or failing that, haul that tooth out”. I am sure he had heard a
fear laced, piercing scream such as the one I let out many times before, but it
didn’t faze him one bit. He put his hand on my shoulder and reassured me that a
root canal wasn’t that bad and that anesthesia would help. “After all”, he said, “a root canal wasn’t as bad as dislocating
your finger or anything”. Okay, he
didn’t really say that last bit, but that is the way it was being processed in
my terrified brain. It was discussed and
it was decided that a root canal would be the best route as the tooth in
question was a really, really important one and if I wanted to eat, it should
remain where it was. I did have a fleeting thought that this would be an
excellent way to diet, but dieting and not eating really are two different
things.
I spent the next two weeks bemoaning my fate and everyone, to
the person, after hearing of my fate, sympathized with me and offered up their
own tale of woe or someone they knew or the sister of their cousins’ best
friend who underwent a root canal and they were laid up for months with cotton
batten coming out of their mouths like an overstuffed couch. I was counting the
days down to my appointment with a dread similar to an impending
execution.
When the date finally rolled around and I had spread my story
to all those who cared and a large majority who didn’t care, I settled into the
previously mentioned Star Wars chair, slipped on the proffered sunglasses which
I am sure were designed more to hide the terror in my eyes than to shield me
from the shining light. With my
peripheral vision, I could see a large needle rising from somewhere and then I
felt the cold steel enter into my mouth and heard the admonishment that I would
feel a little pinch. Surprisingly, that
was all I felt. “They must be setting me
up for something a lot worse”, I thought to myself. After that I was left to my own devices until
the anesthetic took hold. I used my
tongue to check the dullness of the pain. It didn’t really register on me that
in fact my tongue might be anaesthetized as well, but in moment such as this,
logical thought is often the first to go. The dental team arrived back and
after tapping the subject tooth a few times, they proceeded to work. Now it would do this story a whole lot of
good if the pain was anything like I had imagined. After a build-up of close to
40 years of anticipation, the procedure was over before I knew it. I won’t say I felt cheated by the lack of
excruciating pain; I was greatly relieved that it wasn’t as portrayed. I was even moreso relieved when it became
apparent that he would have to go in about 3 more times to get the offending
nerve out of there. It seemed I had a
problem tooth with hidden canals reaching into areas not usually bothered. As I
remarked to my dentist I seemed to have a Zombie tooth, an undead being. It
just didn’t want to die and would prefer to stay in my mouth and shuffle
around. He got a chuckle out of that, then put his mask on and got back to
work.
Now that I have one of my worst nightmares behind me, when
people equate a root canal to pain, I tell them that a root canal is a walk in
the park. But, if you want to talk pain? One word for you,
Colonoscopy.
