Breathe, I kept telling myself.
I could smell burning. And a pungent decay.
My eyes stayed closed for most of the time, as I tried to concentrate on the music flooding my ears: R.E.M., Kathleen Edwards, Sam Roberts, Peter Gabriel, Midge Ure, Matt Good, The Cranberries, The The. Twice, my smartphone stopped the music, inexplicably, and I'd have to wait until there was a pause in the procedure, when I could start the music up and drown out most of the noise.
The drill would sometimes drown out the sound.
No one was there to hold my hand. Even when the dentist would move in close, would unintentionally press her breasts against the top of my head, I felt no comfort.
Sometimes, a hand would rest on my lower lip, push that part of my face against my bottom teeth, as leverage was gained. The inside of my lip, rubbed raw, wouldn't be apparent until the anesthetic wore.
But, while the outside of my face and my gums were numbed, the inside of my poor tooth was not. I felt some discomfort, but no pain, with the first two channels. The nerves in those spots were dead. But the third channel had nerves that were very much alive.
Tears streamed from both eyes as the probes scrubbed inside the canal. I expected the drilling to reach into my brain, and I wished for the end to come swiftly.
And all the while, I had to remind myself to breathe. In, through the nose; out, through the mouth. The smell of burning, made from the drill. The smell of pungent decay, made from my bad tooth.
In, through the nose. Out, through the mouth.
After an hour and a half, I was assured that the worst was over. The tooth had been drained and sanitized. It would now be filled: the old filling, made more than a year ago when a popcorn kernel took almost three-quarters of the tooth, had to be replaced.
I kept my eyes closed, turned the volume up, and lost myself in my music.
And breathed.
Nobody likes pain. Not really, I think.
Pain is cold, felt with negative feelings, if any emotion at all. It shows us that we are weak, fragile, vulnerable. Pain provides no comfort: it dispirits us, disheartens. Pain can evoke fear, and fear is a powerful foe.
When we're in pain, we naturally want to seek an escape, find pleasure. Find comfort. If we're lucky, we find that comfort in those that love us. If we're fortunate, we find it in those with compassion.
When I have injured myself, I have been fortunate to have those who loved me or those whose compassion has provided warmth through the pain, has alleviated my fears. Made the pain seem irrelevant. They say that our bodies don't remember pain quite like it remembers pleasure, and through all my past injuries, it's the pleasure of comfort that I remember the most.
Soon, however, I anticipate a coming pain, an impending discomfort, and my fears are beginning to take hold.
More than a year ago, as I sat down for movie night with my family, snacks and drinks before our large-screened TV, Netflix cued up, my wife and daughters settling in with me, I took a handful of popcorn and popped it in my mouth, and started to chew, I bit into a popcorn kernel. Because the action occurred just as I was swallowing, I was caught unaware and swallowed the kernel as well as the sweet-and-salty popcorn.
I silently cursed my gluttony and ran my tongue over the affected tooth, only to find a marked absence. More than two-thirds of a molar was missing above the gum line. There was no pain. There was no discomfort, apart from the ragged edges of the remaining tooth.
Our movie night continued, without further incident, without any pain. I continued to eat popcorn, chewing on the opposite side of the mouth, thoroughly rinsing my mouth with cool beer.
On the next business day, I called my dentist and made an appointment to repair the damage. A filler was used to reconstruct the missing portion of my tooth. It was a painless process, and after about an hour I was on my way, as though nothing had ever happened.
Over the following months, everything was fine, but then I noticed that I had a tender spot on my cheek, about an inch above the rebuilt tooth. If I applied gentle pressure to my cheekbone, I could feel mild pain that travelled to that tooth.
Another trip to the dentist, some additional shaping of the tooth.
But the discomfort never went away.
Earlier this month, more than a year after my tooth broke, at a regular checkup, I complained about the discomfort, adding that while it wasn't a painful sensation, it was a distraction. X-rays were taken, and I was shown where there was an inflammation near the root of the tooth. And I was given the two words I feared the most.
Root canal.
An appointment was made. I was told that the inflammation didn't appear severe, that we had detected it before it could get worse. The procedure was explained to me: there would be pain, but probably not much.
I don't like pain.
I immediately wanted to seek comfort, and found some, by way of sympathy, from my family. But sympathy won't make me feel comforted while the drill penetrates my tooth.
I want my hand held.
