by Nellie Curtiss…
(This column was updated.) After a grueling tension-filled transport ride from the Valley to Lone Tree, I was so glad to see the address on the building. I had finally arrived after four plus hours and could leave the confines of a small backseat. A visit to any dentist can drive torment; but the endodontist wanted to save my tooth and prolong my biting days. I was game.
My dental trek has been steep. More than a decade ago, I had root canals dug out of inflamed molars. Once in Colorado Springs I was entertained with the movie remake of The Nutty Professor. During that episode, my blood pressure shot blood jets across the room like Perseid meteor showers across earth’s night skies. A few years later, a local dentist mashed up some crowns with gold when a day later the pain from infection scored new flights of fright right to another dentist for overhaul. Call after call to the operating dentist had been ignored. Therefore, a kinder more considerate dentist took the reins in fighting the infection. So clearly, root canal can be a “murky word,” in my book of life.
Now, Tina greeted me outside. She asked, “Could I carry something for you?” I handed her my backpack with sundry travel aids and power cord for my Inogen G4 portable oxygen concentrator. “What a relief,” I thought because the dental suite was not even 20 feet from the entrance. Both Tina and Maria settled me in a chair to catch my breath for a few minutes. Inhaling deeply and calmly, I completed paperwork including insurance, medical details, and permission to be treated.
Then Maria showed me to a side partition for 3D CT scanner to scan a multi-dimensional picture of the root canal needing repair. On to the treatment room, I was finally relaxing as I found the dental chair was clean, comfortable, and easy to slip onto. My service dog ready to alert to overwhelming anxiety climbed into my lap. More x-rays were taken; and then, I met Dr. Kerri Lawlor.
She greeted me, “Hello, Nelda. It’s nice to meet you.” Her voice was assuring and gentle, so I could feel my fingers relax from clutching the arm rest. She asked about the tooth’s history; and I shared. Then she examined my teeth and brought up my digital x-rays to show me their condition. Her explanation of the treatment to remove the infection and disinfect the established root canal was clear and understandable. I asked how the infection happened. As the root canal was decades old, no immediate cause was known. It is possible, she let me know, that an infection was transferred from blood circulating, or an unseen crack.
She first applied some numbing gel to the area and waited a few minutes. She tested my gums for numbness; I could not feel anything. So, she injected two pain blockers which didn’t smart either. (What a difference from first experiences in elementary school. I remember that military dentist placed a long needle into my gums, upsetting them so badly that I cried.) Fifteen minutes later, she returned and tested the gums. A small rubber dam was attached around my tooth which controlled my tongue and allowed me to swallow. For me, an unruly tongue could be dangerous in the dentist chair. This dental bib protected the tooth and mouth from any debris and made the open mouth more comfortable.
Then the treatment began with some drilling, scraping, drilling, and scraping. I was allowed to close my mouth when she switched tools, so my mouth wasn’t overly frazzled. Maria guided the rinsing and vacuuming.
After about an hour, an x-ray confirmed that the infection was removed and sealed. I shifted my legs to the floor and read the discharge sheet with directions on the aftercare. As my service dog and I hobbled out, they thanked me for coming and letting them help me. “Call us if you need,” they said, “Day or night.” As Martha Stewart might surmise, “It’s a good thing.” Let me add, even root canals need compassionate care.
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Nelda Curtiss is a retired college educator and long-time local columnist. Reach her at http://www.columnsbynellie.com or email her at columnsbynellie@gmail.com
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