Jar of Goodness 2.27.25: Lidocaine

. . . The weekly virtual “gratitude jar.”

This week, I’m expressing thanks for lidocaine.

. . . Or whatever local anesthetic Dr. Powell used on Tuesday to turn the left side of my mouth into concrete while she did her thing on my lowermost left molar. Because I got a crown. (And not the “good” kind.)

This explains why I’m late for my Sunday-goal post. I spent the weekend getting wigged out.

This was a big deal for me, because I’ve been lucky enough to have had very little dental work in my entire life. One tiny cavity a long time ago, then a replacement of the filling for that cavity. I had braces in fourth or fifth grade, but I didn’t need any teeth pulled for that. Indeed, I think the braces helped set me up for decades of good dental health. In college, I had my wisdom teeth removed—but that was done at an oral surgeon’s office, and I was knocked out for that grimness.

So I was dismayed my last checkup. “Hey, my molar’s hurting when I bite on it a certain way, or have tortilla chips.” I had thought it was the upper molar, but they determined it was the lower one. She could see the crack, and biting down on a perfectly positioned wicked little plastic pointed device helped demonstrate the precise location. Yeow!

So Tuesday was a new “adventure” for me. I won’t go into the details, but fortunately Sue prepared me for most of it. The worst and best parts were, of course, the injection. I wasn’t prepared for the sensation, or reality, of my lower lip having uncontrollable spasms as she stuck in the anesthetic. Of course, I was grateful to be numb for what followed. The fifteen minutes spent drilling away the exterior of the cracked tooth was an eternity, and then more was needed as they checked and rechecked the shape, drilled again and again, to get it just so.

I wasn’t expecting it, but I was also grateful for a gadget they wedged into the right side of my mouth (the side they weren’t working on) that I could just let my teeth close on, so I didn’t have to hold my mouth open the entire time. I could relax, well, sort of. It also had a suction tube attached, so I didn’t have to swallow. It wasn’t as good as not visiting the dentist at all, but it made the procedure easier to cope with.

As she drilled, and I caught the scent of tooth dust, it struck me as quite disturbing to be able, in essence, to smell the dust of my very own bones. Ashes to ashes. Usually such mortifying sensations are limited to battlefields and violent accidents. But hey, I paid money for this little lesson in mortality. (I know they drilled pilot holes in my bones to fix my foot and ankle fractures, but I wasn’t awake for that, hallelujah.)

As one comedian pointed out, “I recently read that a majority of household dust is composed of our own skin cells. Hey, I knew we turned into dust, but I didn’t realize it was an ongoing process!”

To keep me from overthinking during my dentist visit, I had an earbud playing Tim Clark’s Blue Bamboo, music that I often play in earbuds as I mow the lawn. It is melodic, rhythmic, and intriguing enough that it makes time pass very quickly. So I’m grateful for that music, too.

At this point, I’m living with my temporary crown, I haven’t made it fall off yet, and I’ll go back in a few weeks to get the permanent crown.

Today’s lunch was a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich, and I’m grateful for that, too!