Artificial Thrills

"Are you alright?" the dentist asked, studying my dilated pupils and rapid breathing. "You look kind of pale."

"Uh, I'm fine," I said. "Did you see me when I came in? I'm somewhat Irish, and generally pretty pale anyway."

"No, your lips are purple," she said. "Are you feeling some side effects from those numbing shots? Some people feel side effects."

I sighed with relief, though my heart kept racing. I had been wondering what my deal was, sitting there freaking out for no reason. Turns out there is epinephrine in the dental anesthetic. No one knows why. Remind me not to try cocaine.

I could hear the drills going in the other rooms, "reeee, rr-reee..." and that actually does bother me. I'm not ashamed of that. I don't usually hyperventilate, though.

It was a relief when the effect finally wore off, and we could get down to the business of converting my left lower molar into foul-smelling dust. In a few weeks it will be replaced by a new tooth, constructed of porcelain, or cement, or fossilized papier mache for all I know.

My insurance will cover half, leaving me with an obligation to pay about what you'd spend on a nice television. Then we can start on the other crown, in the same spot, except on the right side.

If you've got teeth, go floss them.