A little over a month ago I went to the dentist. After the deep root planning last year, which marked the first negative dental experience I’ve ever had, I was expecting the worst. More lectures. More threats of sharp instruments been jammed between my teeth and the thin layer of tissue that holds them in. Hints at worse things to come and disapproving glances.

Instead, I spent twenty minutes with a very young and entirely gentle hygienist. So gentle I wasn’t convinced she’d actually done anything until the grape flavored buffing creme was being applied.

I shouldn’t have been so excited, because karama was watching and decided to come kick my ass in a dance off.

In came the dentist. The one who said I have an old filling made of mercury that needed to be replaced. The one that said there was a gap at the edge of it where germs could sneak in under the cover of night and make baby cavities right there in my mouf.

Let’s do it, I said, and we set the appointment for a few days later.

That day, she was late.

By an hour.

She was apparently having work done on her house and a contractor showed up early.

Fine. I watched TV. Worked via Blackberry. Waited.

She showed up and proceeded to drill and drill and drill until the skin on my face felt like I’d been at the beach and tripped after one too many fruity drinks to land face first in a sandcastle.

Fine.

I went back to work, drooled on myself and tried to make the best of it. Days later, it still hurt to chew and was waking myself up every night because I clench my teeth in my sleep, and the height of the filling was wrong (too short) so there was pressure on a tooth that wasn’t used to it. When I’d run my tongue along the little one that had been drilled on, it wasn’t even the same shape as it used to be. There was a grit on the surface my tongue bumps up against and I swear to you I could *hear* my teeth moving as a result of one little dude being out of line.

I called the office, was entirely too nice given the things that I was doing to the dentist in my minds eye, and went back to see what she if she could make it better. Stronger. Rebuild it.

She didn’t. She blah blah blahed about how she didn’t see anything wrong, that annoying film thing you bite on didn’t “show” anything and then proceeded to put a drill in my mouth again anyway.

Totally ohmahgawd NOT fine.

Now with 23% less tooth, I’m going back to my old dentist. The one I was with for eons before I broke up with him and his practice for something less GU.

Shame on me for trying to do the easy thing (not drive an hour to a dentist) instead of the right thing (staying with a practitioner I trust).

Wish me luckage, and please send good thoughts out to the universe to encourage people to do their jobs and do them well…because I also have yet another story about the Jeep I’m struggling not to vent about out here.

Positive thoughts. Clicking heels. Looking for Toto.