Feel Free to Rinse

There are a lot of words in the English language that can be mentioned that prompt little to no reaction from people. Two such words are, "root" and "canal." "Root" which refers to the under part of a plant or the encouragement for an individual or team, much like all of New England will be doing as the Jets take their well deserved foot fetished beating this coming Sunday. Then there's the word "canal", which immediately inspires visions of panama hats, big ships and malaria. As stated, speaking these words individually is a harmless endeavor that you yourself can try as a fun little experiment. Walk up to a complete stranger and say, "root!" The reaction you receive will be somewhere between disinterest and "buzz off, whack job!" You may even get a little spare change out of it in the process. Now try stringing the words together. Go ahead, try it with anyone. Walk up to someone and say "root canal" and you'll immediately trigger sighs, grunts and groans like you just kicked them in the crotch. The two words root canal have struck more fear in Americans than uncle Osama, four dollars a gallon and the true ingredients in bologna.

So where does all of this rambling lead? It leads to the fact that I had my first root canal today. I hate to use the word first because it indicates that there may be a second or more on the "You're going to feel a little pressure here," horizon.

I suppose I deserve the procedure. I remember when I was a kid chomping on the hard and gooey candy I was relegated to due to my allergy to chocolate. I earned my fair share of cavities when I was a kid. I had so much silver in my mouth that when the dentist would shine the big space ship looking lamp in my mouth, the reflection off of my silver fillings would bath the room in little points of light like a giant disco ball.

As I grew older I learned to take better care of my teeth. But with time and age come issues, and thankfully, I've had few, but I certainly had one now. My dentist explained that a root canal is necessary when the root becomes irritated by bacteria and causes pain. He also told me that the root really doesn't have much to do with the overall health of the tooth itself. He went on to say that the root was like a tenant that rented the space inside of the tooth. If this is true, I need to speak with the realtor who leased my number 13 tooth, because the pain I was experiencing leads me to believe that I had a bunch of college kids with no references or credit checks living in there, partying, bumping into the walls, and breaking all of the furniture.

To be honest, the procedure wasn't all that bad. Before we got started, I asked if I could listen to my iPod, which I was told was okay. I ran through the waiting room out toward my car with my little bib on. Most of the people in the waiting area probably thought I was trying to escape, and I'm not sure if they felt any better when I returned with my aforementioned coconut half headphones. I got back in the chair and started looking for the right selection. Maybe something soothing, but something that was loud enough to kill the sound of the drill. I thought about watching a video, but the only thing I had on my iPod was a YouTube video I uploaded of some dude getting a root canal.

Just prior to the procedure, they gave me a pair of tinted protective sunglasses. I don't know why they were tinted. Maybe the dentist thought the site of me crying would be distracting. He also placed a medieval metal and rubber thing that looked like something out of a Marylin Manson video. After 45 minutes of Drilling, filing, and filling I was sent on my way, short one root and a fairly hefty co-pay. I headed of to the office for a staff meeting where I would stutter and stumble through a project plan presentation with a mouth full of Novocaine and drool, hoping that the root canal would be the difficult part of my day.