Are root canals contagious?

I had my first root canal starting two weeks ago. I say “starting,” because this lovely procedure requires three appointments. The first one to try and get to the roots and clean them out. The second one to, once again, try and get to all the root branches and clean out the twisty little *#(#!*.  My third appointment is scheduled for Friday to go in and replace the temporary filling with a permanent one. It was my first root canal. I’m hoping it will be my last. I’ve had many many dental procedures in my life. Extraction of adult teeth. Extraction of wisdom teeth. Braces. Cavities. I’ve endured all of them quietly without complaint. I usually sit still in the chair.  Last week’s endurance appointment was the last straw. I squirmed. I grunted. I may have growled. It’s really hard to lie in the chair seeing tools flying, listening to my dentist talk to his assistant about twisting roots, listening to the drill, feeling the drill, and not wonder how sideways the procedure was going without my knowing. The longer it took and the more tools that went flying above my nose tried my patience to its final end. The dental assistant could tell, I think, I was DONE. I politely paid my portion of the bill, bid everyone a good week, and told the front desk staff I didn’t want to see them again for a long long time after this week.

I lamented my experience to one of my co-workers this week. She put me in my place (kindly) by sharing her experience of multiple root canals, followed by a tooth abscess. My experience cannot compare to hers. I sympathized. I appreciated her support. Today, she sent me an email. A routine appointment for her to (I think) replace a filling unexpectedly resulted in, guess what?, a root canal. ACK!  How is that possible? Am I contagious? It’s like getting called for jury duty. The strangest things seem to be contagious in a small office. I warned a couple of other co-workers to stay away from me. The root canal syndrome is spreading. I’m contagious.  I’m not even finished with mine yet. Maybe Friday’s appointment to fill the tooth will cap off the cavern of pain and stop the root canal germs from flying through the air and infecting everyone else. I’m so sorry, world!

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Doctor doctor…oww, oww, oowwww…

Went for a regular check-up this morning with my doctor. It took six months to get an appointment for a regular check-up. Yes, six months. So much for finding a doctor that I like. It’s impossible to get in! I half expected the receptionist to say “Oh no, the doctor isn’t in today. Didn’t you get the message?” Such has been my luck with the dentist lately.

But she was there. And it was a boring regular check-up. Except on the way out….when the Dr.’s assistant asked me the most dreaded of all dreaded questions you can possibly be asked in the doctor’s office: “When was your last tetanus shot?”

Frack. I almost made it out the door without that one. And drat, though I don’t remember the exact date, I’m pretty sure it’s been 10 years since my last shot. Which I reluctantly admitted to the assistant. Who then ordered me back into another exam room. A very whiney, sniffling, protesting me.

“But those huuuurrrrrrtttt!” I moaned.

No sympathy. She left me in the room and went for the shot. I thought about bolting out the door, but there were too many twisting hallways on the way back to the lobby. I figured I’d get caught before I made it out. I tried to take deep breaths, thinking that someone once told me the shot hurts more if your muscles are tense. Zen moment. Zen moment. She came back in.

“Ow.” I said.

Just practicing.

She handed me the paper explaining the shot. Which was actually a combo shot. I whined a little more. “I thought only kids and adolescents have to get the combo shooaaattt.” I sighed. No sympathy. She just looked at me and said “Do you not want it?”

HECK NO, I don’t want it! But I didn’t refuse. I just pretended to read the handout for a couple of minutes, delaying the inevitable.

“OK” I mumbled.

*thunk!*

In went the needle. Zen moment. Relax muscle. Think nice thoughts.

“Thanks,” I whispered, as she let me leave the office.

Ooooowwwww! It hurts! My arm hurts! It hurts!

I am writing down the date of this shot. One nurse told me to write it down on the back of my driver’s license to keep track. Maybe I’ll just use this blog as proof. Yup! Got the shot! Leave me alone!

I hate these things. I don’t know what happened to my pain-tolerance level. It used to be fairly robust when I was younger. I have grown wimpy in my olding age. *sigh* We’ll just see if I ever go see a doctor again!

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