One of the worst days of my life.

Graphic descriptions, may be disturbing.

I had a pretty serious overbite as a child.  They knew it would have to be addressed.  I was taken to one dentist when I was about 6, and he suggested strategically pulling various teeth to "make room for the others to come in properly". Mom didn't like that and said no. 

When I was 12, they decided I needed braces.  Braces were not covered by the insurance, so Dad had to pay out of pocket. 

They took a lot of x-rays, did an exam, and gave me the bad news: I'd have to have 4 teeth pulled.  I had one permanent tooth.  The other 3 were baby teeth without a permanent behind them, an easier fix than pulling an adult tooth.  I "needed the room" I was told, for braces.  My mouth was pretty crowded. 

I was given a date and anxiously told all my teachers I would not be attending school that day.  I was in yet another "special program" at the time and only had 2 teachers.  They waited until after I'd attended my sister's wedding. 

Then, one day, Mom said "Let's to for a drive" after school, and I ended up at the dentist in a chair.  For whatever reason they just decided to pull everything under a local. 

Trapped in the chair, seeing this horrible wrench-thing, feeling the crunch-crunch in my head as he wrenched it back and forth, freeing the roots, it was hell.   I was actually OK with all of that. 

However, when they started taking bloody, sharp, tools out of my mouth and passing them in front of my eyes, I lost it.  I had a full blown panic attack and started screaming.   Mom said you could hear me in the lobby.  The other patients didn't like it much, apparently.  [snicker]

Well, they knew I was a psychiatric patient.  What did they think I would do?  Knit them an afghan? 

It remains a source of amazement that no one thought to knock me out. 

They kept injecting me with novocaine because I kept screaming I could feel it.  They had hurried consultations with another dentist and Mom - all agreed they would never get me back in that chair if they didn't finish... so they continued. 

I felt like I was being tortured.  Finally, done. 

I staggered out, my mouth full of cotton, glaring at them all.  Mom was given the post surgical instructions.  When we got home, she told Dad I "had a hard time" and sent Dad out to get me a milkshake (my love of sweets is legendary).  I was allowed to drink that, out of a cup, once the bleeding stopped and I spit out all the cotton (I'm not really a bleeder - according to the blood bank I have excellent platelets). 

After I had my shake, I curled up in bed and went to sleep, sobbing.  I don't think I mentioned I was already battling a horrific depression. 

That was one of the worst days of my life, right up there with accident day, and the day Ron told me (something bad). 

Punchline: the dentist left a bone fragment and I had to have incredibly painful cyst removal surgery while they got my wisdom teeth (7 years later).  It was worse than the wisdom teeth and it scarred up the inside of my mouth.