Funny, 'cause I actually kinda *feel* six years old.

Tuesday was a big day for me. For the first time in a good twenty years, I had a cavity filled!

When I was really little, maybe five years old, my mom took me to a dentist in Hopewell for a filling. I'm pretty sure this was intended to be a routine dental procedure, but for some reason the dentist wouldn't let my mom come back into the room with me. So naturally, as he started towards my mouth with some scary dental power tool, I freaked. I wanted my mom, and I started calling for her. Instead of letting her come back, or calming me down in some nice way, he put one hand over my mouth and the other over my nose and shut me right up. Thus began my dentist phobia. (For the record, I distinctly remember both my mother and my father wanting to kick this guy's ass... and when I was a teenager I remember considering finding him and doing the same myself. I'm sure someone eventually did kick his ass though, he obviously deserved it.)

So, I went to the dentist a fair bit as a child (because my mama gave me no choice), but as a teenager, I avoided it at all costs. Throughout college, even, I stayed away as much as I could, with nary a teeth cleaning visit. Until Sara and I became best friends. Sara's mom (aka Mama P.) is a dental hygienist, so naturally Sara began harassing me about taking better care of my teeth. I don't remember the turning point, but eventually I started going to the dentist regularly again. Thankfully, all that I needed was a cleaning every six months, and so until this week, I managed to avoid the scary dental power tools.

Recently I decided to switch dentists and start going to the one where Mama P. works. Somehow I had gotten off the teeth cleaning wagon for about a year and a half, and so when I went a couple weeks ago for a cleaning, I was told it was time to have this one tiny cavity filled. And I didn't realize how scared I was until I parked my car and found myself trying to come up with some reason that I should cancel my appointment.

But I didn't. And Dr. Mason and her assistant Libby were great. They tolerated my many, many questions quite well: "How long will it take? What will you do? How long will that part take? Will it hurt? What's that? What will it feel like? But how long will the actual BLASTING part take? Can I have some valium?"

Finally, Dr. Mason said, "Didn't Mama P tell you I was going to put on my kid gloves for you? I do this to six year olds all the time, you know."

Yes, well... fine.

So, I shut up. Or shut OPEN, if you will. And it took like ten minutes, and it didn't hurt. And now I can eat as much chocolate on that side of my mouth as I want, pain-free. :-D