This Will Only Hurt (Your Psyche) a Little

“Huh.”

“What? What is it?”

“Yooouuu… have a cavity.”

I suspected as much before I arrived because my tooth had been hurting for more than a week, but of course I took no pleasure in being right. The only thing I felt was shame.

I hadn’t hurt anyone or committed some selfish act or set a goal for myself that went unaccomplished, but shame washed over me nonetheless. Why? It’s not like I had to break it to my parents. And my dentist didn’t care. If anything, he was probably delighted. Now he would get to charge me more.

So what’s the big deal, I kept asking myself.

The big deal is I’m almost 40 years old, for God’s sake. Children get cavities. They eat too much sugar and don’t brush properly, then they get a cavity, and hopefully learn their lesson. I got a couple of them as a kid, like almost every kid does. But that was three decades ago.

What the hell is a grown man who spends every morning and every night reminding his two kids to brush their own teeth doing with a cavity? That’s like imploring your teenager not to text and drive, and then getting into an accident yourself because you were texting while driving.

My credibility was gone. I was one of them now. And my dentist felt the same way.

“Soooo… you wet the bed too?” he laughed as he reached for the numbing agent.

“What?!”

“Now, I’m going to give you a shot in your gum before filling the tooth. It might hurt a little. Do you want to call your mom to see if she can come in and hold your hand?”

Jesus, the guy was roasting me like I was on a Comedy Central special.

“Just plug it, you son of a bitch.”

He giggled, and gave me the shot. He could have given me 50, I wouldn’t have noticed. No amount of physical pain would have registered. There was only humiliation.

The typical barrage of questions followed as the doctor patched the hole. “How’s work?” “Kids enjoying school?” “Got any fun plans for the summer?”

I cared not how nonsensical and drooly my answers sounded. What was left to be embarrassed about?

He softened on taking jabs at my manhood, or maybe he didn’t; I wasn’t paying much attention. My thoughts turned to whether this was the start of a trend. If my teeth were weakening in my old age. Perhaps they’d all turn to dust and spill out of my mouth, forcing me to replace them with tree bark and acorns. Future meals would consist only of milkshakes and mashed potatoes.

Maybe I wasn’t a child at all. Maybe my body was in rapid decline, and soon I would wield a cane and require an electric chair lift to get up and down stairs.

When it was over, I steadied myself trying to make it to the front desk, still reeling from the effects of the shot. Fog filled my head as clear thought seemed to leave it.

The doctor picked up the basket full of suckers and peered at me over the top of his bifocals. “None for you today,” he giggled some more.

Was I hearing the voice of the guy who worked in my mouth or the guy who lives in my head?

“We’ll mail you the bill,” his assistant said.

“Oh, ok. Well… thanks, I guess.”

The doctor tapped a picture on the wall. In it, a young boy was smiling and giving a “thumbs up.” He had a Spiderman blanket draped over his shoulder.

“If you want, next time you can bring in your binky,” the doctor said, doubling over in laughter.

Curse the dentist and his jokes. Or whoever was making them.

Curse them all!