It’s been a while since my last installment of HypochondriACK!TM
I had my first cavity just a few years ago. Before that, I had thought my teeth were pretty much invulnerable, and abashedly took care of them accordingly. Because my first “scary” dentist visit came so late in life, I had a somewhat more unorthodox reaction to the whole process. I was curious as hell.
(A little background: In art school I worked primarily in metal sculpture—mostly bronze castings. I am no stranger to tools that turn steel into a shower of hot sparks.)
I wanted to see what the cavity looked like on the intra-oral dental camera. The dentist and I nerded out over the UV-activated epoxy he was mixing to fill the hole he drilled. Oh, and then there’s the drilling. To me, the pneumatic rotary tool used to grind out a section of my tooth wasn’t loud or frightening, it was comfortingly nostalgic. That was a tool that I myself had used for hours on end. If you’ve ever used one, you know that you feel that tool in your entire body, even when it’s not in your mouth. The high pitched whine and vibration in my jaw was familiar to me. Even the smell of the newly pulverized tooth seemed oddly familiar to me.
Suffice to say, people think I’m a freak. The last time I told this story, I was looked dead in the eye and told, “You enjoyed it.” I’m not sure if that was exactly the case, but it was a fascinating experience for me.
*I’ve had plenty of procedures done, including the occasional cavity operation, but nothing disturbing enough to cause anxiety.