D
deweydecimator
Junior member
- Joined
- Apr 27, 2018
- Messages
- 8
As someone in CBT for an anxiety disorder, I know that journaling helps me process my thoughts and calm my racing mind.
As a lurker on this forum, I know that reading everyone's stories has helped me motivate myself to overcome my anxiety and take action.
As a librarian, I know the best stories usually focus on an epic hero's journey.
This will be a combination of all three. I hope that unloading my feelings and chronicling my journey here will help someone else find his or her own motivation. If no one reads this, well, then at least I'll get this story out of my head where it's driving me crazy.
The Background
My parents had terrible dental hygiene. My dad was a meth addict for most of my childhood. We were poor -- Appalachian mountaineering family poor. My mom worked 3 jobs to pay for our house, our food, their cigarettes, and my dad's drug habit. Our teeth were at the very bottom of a long list of priorities. They never taught me to brush regularly. I don't think I've ever seen them purchase floss. Our diet was terrible because we ate what was cheap. Around 9 or 10, I had huge cavities and an abscess in my molars. I had 3 extractions in the one dental visit I got before age 18, under sedation. I don't remember any of it.
Brushing and oral hygiene still weren't a priority for me as a young adult. I don't think I owned a toothbrush for a whole year when I was in college. I was also incredibly depressed -- after experiencing sexual assault at a Halloween party my sophomore year, I developed PTSD and GAD. The university doctor plied me with cheap medications, but without therapy, they were really only a band-aid. ALL of my hygiene went downhill. I barely showered. I barely ate. I drank way too much and started using non-prescription drugs. I started smoking, just like both of my parents. I was broke and spent all of my money self-medicating. My teeth suffered tremendously. I'd look in the mirror, and the depression would tell me it was pointless to even start trying to turn things around. I listened.
In graduate school, my mental health started to turn around. I drank far less and quit using recreational drugs. As I worked toward my master's degree, I felt smart. I felt worthwhile! I made better money than I'd ever made before. I could afford treats again -- like fresh fruit. FRESH FRUIT. One night, I was eating a bowl of cherries, feeling smug about how far I'd come. I bit down on a cherry pit and one of my remaining back molars shattered. I was in more pain than I'd been in for years. I knew I'd have to get it looked at. Cue the shame. I couldn't go to the dentist -- they'd know that I was a white trash redneck masquerading as a college-educated woman who appeared to have her shit together. I convinced myself that they'd assume I was a) disgusting and b) a meth addict like my father. My whole identity crumbled away with my tooth. I finally caved when it hurt too much to talk, took the day off work, and found a dentist in my price range. The hygienist was incredibly sweet to me. The dentist was also pretty kind, numbed me up real good, and yanked that tooth out of there. But then, he made an off-hand comment about the health of my gums and the shame spiral started. I can't keep my teeth healthy. I can't keep my gums healthy. I am worthless. I am disgusting. It's pointless to even try -- I'll just end up with dentures like my mom and dad and grandmother anyway. I ignored all of the follow up calls from his office. I didn't even bother to cancel my appointments, I just didn't show up. The offending tooth had been extracted, nothing hurt anymore, so I just stuck my head in the sand and went on with life.
I finished grad school and started job hunting. I worked part-time for years to build up my resume. No health insurance. No dental insurance. I loved the jobs I was doing but couldn't afford to get my mouth looked at. I still had shoddy brushing habits. Then I met my now-husband. When we started spending most nights together, he sat me down and had a very serious (although pretty loving, looking back on it) discussion with me about brushing and flossing. He told me that if we were really talking about getting serious and settling down, I'd have to work on it, that he wanted a partner to back him up in teaching these lessons to children we might have, that he didn't want to set a bad example for them and start them on the same path I was on. I was humiliated. To get away from my own embarrassment and shame, I just disconnected my mouth from the rest of me in my mind. Those aren't my cavities. Those aren't my bleeding gums.
We started a routine of brushing together every single morning and every single night. My breath smelled better. My teeth didn't feel fuzzy. They were still incredibly yellow and my gums still bled whenever I tried to floss, but it was enough to kickstart out relationship, which is all I was aiming for anyway. It was about keeping my boyfriend, not my teeth. I had a broken molar on my upper left side that was sharp and pointy, but it had been that way for years and didn't hurt. I had a cavity forming in the lower molar on my left side...but I was brushing regularly now. Surely that would take care of that. No need to see a dentist, that was only for emergencies.
We got married. I'm smiling with my mouth closed in all of my wedding photos.
I got a full time job with health insurance! But no dental. My anxiety disorder and depression had been flaring up off and on since my grandfather had passed, and I decided to prioritize medication and therapy over my mouth. Again. I learned a lot of things from that job, because of the therapy I could afford while working it, and when I quit I knew how to communicate effectively, how to value myself as an employee with great ideas who worked hard and saw results, and how to prioritize self care when I started to feel stressed or like life was out of my control. We bought a house. I got a new job, cut my commute time down by 2/3rds, and was really excited about the new chapter of my life.
The weekend after my first full week at the new library, my molar with the cavity that'd I'd been ignoring broke. I spit half the tooth out into my hand. It hurt. I was ashamed. The whole spiral started from scratch. I tried to hide it from my husband, didn't want him to know there was anything wrong with me at all. He saw through it -- he always does. Bless that man, he didn't even get upset with me for hiding the decay for so long. I was going to get health and dental insurance through my job, but it took 90 days to kick in. I couldn't wait that long. So I did some half-assed research, found a dentist close to the house, and booked an appointment for an emergency extraction. As ashamed as I was, I started to see that this could be the turning point for me. I could pay for these extractions out of pocket and then when the insurance kicked in, make a real push! I was hopeful.
My husband went with me to the appointment because he knew I was nervous. The building the office was in was next to a donut store, and that made me laugh. We had the first appointment of the day, 8:00 AM, so I figured I wouldn't have to wait very long to be seen. Wrong. We sat in the lobby and watched person after person get called back. The receptionist was rude and unhelpful. The hygienist spoke to my husband instead of me. The dentist refused to speak to me at all, just made annoying tsking sounds at me. They decided to get the shattered upper molar while they were in there. I got one shot for my top tooth, one shot for my bottom tooth. I tried to watch Moana on the tv on the ceiling above the chair. Everything went fine with the shattered upper molar -- it hadn't hurt in years and I'm sure it was way dead. Then she started to pull the newly broken one on the bottom. IT HURT. Oh my god, did it hurt. I tried to tell her to stop but she just kept pulling. I have never, ever been in so much pain in my life. I got tunnel vision. I was sweaty. I hadn't had a panic attack in almost year, since I'd started therapy, but my body went ahead and had one then. Suddenly it hurt but also I must be having a heart attack or she was pulling my whole jaw off or I was going to pass out and then suffocate under my own tooth. I started crying -- big, ugly, loud sobs where the snot was draining down the back of my throat and I knew they could see it while they were fighting to get that tooth out of my head. No one once stopped to offer more anesthesia. It felt like hours passed, but by husband said it was only really about 15 minutes. She finally bothered to talk to me, first to tell me to stop moving and then to tell me I'd have to get braces before she'd do any more work on me, that I'd need implants but should really worry about getting my teeth bleached first so the implant could be as white as possible. I got out of the chair and just kept crying, instead of answering her.
I paid, out of pocket and full price, still ugly crying in the lobby. I'm sure I set off more nervous patients but I just couldn't stop. My whole body was shaking. My mouth was bleeding; saliva, snot, tears, and blood dripping down my face. I couldn't feel it, because my cheek was numb even though my gums apparently were not. It was truthfully one of the most painful and most embarrassing experiences of my life. I was 31 years old and bawling like a toddler in front of God and everybody. My husband, though, he wasn't embarrassed. He was furious! He walked to me our car, put me in the passenger seat and buckled me in, and went back into the office. I have no idea what he said to any of them, and I will never ask him, but he came out red-faced and with that one blood vessel bulging on his neck. We filled my prescription for Tylenol 3 and went home. I passed out on the couch watching Peppa Pig on YouTube and had some wild, scary hallucinations from the codeine in the Tylenol 3. I stopped taking it and decide that the whole experience just goes to show why I didn't need to go to the dentist. They couldn't do anything for me and now they were actively hurting me! All of my plans to finally turn my dental health around -- poof, gone, from that point forward. I would let my teeth rot out of my head and gum applesauce until the day I died.
Now
That was in July 2017. April 2018, I just...changed my mind. I'd developed a new cavity in a bicuspid that didn't hurt a lot, but was certainly uncomfortable. I have no chewing molars left on the other side of my mouth. I was craving nachos more than anything in the entire world, but couldn't chew them. The thought of living without Tex-Mex for the rest of my life may actually be what spurred me on. Which is sad, and a little ridiculous, but dammit, I really love chips and queso. I started googling about the shame and embarrassment of jacked-up teeth and discovered this site. Reading y'all's stories -- especially the success stories! -- really helped me be brave. I found an extremely highly rated dentist for nervous and phobic patients in the town we live in, called, made an appointment, and even WENT to the appointment!
I now have a treatment plan and 9 visits scheduled. I need one root canal and crown, a handful of fillings, one extraction, and root planing and scaling done. I have never, ever been to the dentist for anything other than emergency extractions and have no idea what I'm in for. I've found myself watching some disgusting YouTube videos of the procedures I need so that I'm mentally prepared.
My root canal and the first part of the scaling and planing is in two weeks. I'll report back as those procedures get a little closer, because I am straight up terrified.
If you've read this far, thank you for listening to me. Wish me luck, y'all!
As a lurker on this forum, I know that reading everyone's stories has helped me motivate myself to overcome my anxiety and take action.
As a librarian, I know the best stories usually focus on an epic hero's journey.
This will be a combination of all three. I hope that unloading my feelings and chronicling my journey here will help someone else find his or her own motivation. If no one reads this, well, then at least I'll get this story out of my head where it's driving me crazy.
The Background
My parents had terrible dental hygiene. My dad was a meth addict for most of my childhood. We were poor -- Appalachian mountaineering family poor. My mom worked 3 jobs to pay for our house, our food, their cigarettes, and my dad's drug habit. Our teeth were at the very bottom of a long list of priorities. They never taught me to brush regularly. I don't think I've ever seen them purchase floss. Our diet was terrible because we ate what was cheap. Around 9 or 10, I had huge cavities and an abscess in my molars. I had 3 extractions in the one dental visit I got before age 18, under sedation. I don't remember any of it.
Brushing and oral hygiene still weren't a priority for me as a young adult. I don't think I owned a toothbrush for a whole year when I was in college. I was also incredibly depressed -- after experiencing sexual assault at a Halloween party my sophomore year, I developed PTSD and GAD. The university doctor plied me with cheap medications, but without therapy, they were really only a band-aid. ALL of my hygiene went downhill. I barely showered. I barely ate. I drank way too much and started using non-prescription drugs. I started smoking, just like both of my parents. I was broke and spent all of my money self-medicating. My teeth suffered tremendously. I'd look in the mirror, and the depression would tell me it was pointless to even start trying to turn things around. I listened.
In graduate school, my mental health started to turn around. I drank far less and quit using recreational drugs. As I worked toward my master's degree, I felt smart. I felt worthwhile! I made better money than I'd ever made before. I could afford treats again -- like fresh fruit. FRESH FRUIT. One night, I was eating a bowl of cherries, feeling smug about how far I'd come. I bit down on a cherry pit and one of my remaining back molars shattered. I was in more pain than I'd been in for years. I knew I'd have to get it looked at. Cue the shame. I couldn't go to the dentist -- they'd know that I was a white trash redneck masquerading as a college-educated woman who appeared to have her shit together. I convinced myself that they'd assume I was a) disgusting and b) a meth addict like my father. My whole identity crumbled away with my tooth. I finally caved when it hurt too much to talk, took the day off work, and found a dentist in my price range. The hygienist was incredibly sweet to me. The dentist was also pretty kind, numbed me up real good, and yanked that tooth out of there. But then, he made an off-hand comment about the health of my gums and the shame spiral started. I can't keep my teeth healthy. I can't keep my gums healthy. I am worthless. I am disgusting. It's pointless to even try -- I'll just end up with dentures like my mom and dad and grandmother anyway. I ignored all of the follow up calls from his office. I didn't even bother to cancel my appointments, I just didn't show up. The offending tooth had been extracted, nothing hurt anymore, so I just stuck my head in the sand and went on with life.
I finished grad school and started job hunting. I worked part-time for years to build up my resume. No health insurance. No dental insurance. I loved the jobs I was doing but couldn't afford to get my mouth looked at. I still had shoddy brushing habits. Then I met my now-husband. When we started spending most nights together, he sat me down and had a very serious (although pretty loving, looking back on it) discussion with me about brushing and flossing. He told me that if we were really talking about getting serious and settling down, I'd have to work on it, that he wanted a partner to back him up in teaching these lessons to children we might have, that he didn't want to set a bad example for them and start them on the same path I was on. I was humiliated. To get away from my own embarrassment and shame, I just disconnected my mouth from the rest of me in my mind. Those aren't my cavities. Those aren't my bleeding gums.
We started a routine of brushing together every single morning and every single night. My breath smelled better. My teeth didn't feel fuzzy. They were still incredibly yellow and my gums still bled whenever I tried to floss, but it was enough to kickstart out relationship, which is all I was aiming for anyway. It was about keeping my boyfriend, not my teeth. I had a broken molar on my upper left side that was sharp and pointy, but it had been that way for years and didn't hurt. I had a cavity forming in the lower molar on my left side...but I was brushing regularly now. Surely that would take care of that. No need to see a dentist, that was only for emergencies.
We got married. I'm smiling with my mouth closed in all of my wedding photos.
I got a full time job with health insurance! But no dental. My anxiety disorder and depression had been flaring up off and on since my grandfather had passed, and I decided to prioritize medication and therapy over my mouth. Again. I learned a lot of things from that job, because of the therapy I could afford while working it, and when I quit I knew how to communicate effectively, how to value myself as an employee with great ideas who worked hard and saw results, and how to prioritize self care when I started to feel stressed or like life was out of my control. We bought a house. I got a new job, cut my commute time down by 2/3rds, and was really excited about the new chapter of my life.
The weekend after my first full week at the new library, my molar with the cavity that'd I'd been ignoring broke. I spit half the tooth out into my hand. It hurt. I was ashamed. The whole spiral started from scratch. I tried to hide it from my husband, didn't want him to know there was anything wrong with me at all. He saw through it -- he always does. Bless that man, he didn't even get upset with me for hiding the decay for so long. I was going to get health and dental insurance through my job, but it took 90 days to kick in. I couldn't wait that long. So I did some half-assed research, found a dentist close to the house, and booked an appointment for an emergency extraction. As ashamed as I was, I started to see that this could be the turning point for me. I could pay for these extractions out of pocket and then when the insurance kicked in, make a real push! I was hopeful.
My husband went with me to the appointment because he knew I was nervous. The building the office was in was next to a donut store, and that made me laugh. We had the first appointment of the day, 8:00 AM, so I figured I wouldn't have to wait very long to be seen. Wrong. We sat in the lobby and watched person after person get called back. The receptionist was rude and unhelpful. The hygienist spoke to my husband instead of me. The dentist refused to speak to me at all, just made annoying tsking sounds at me. They decided to get the shattered upper molar while they were in there. I got one shot for my top tooth, one shot for my bottom tooth. I tried to watch Moana on the tv on the ceiling above the chair. Everything went fine with the shattered upper molar -- it hadn't hurt in years and I'm sure it was way dead. Then she started to pull the newly broken one on the bottom. IT HURT. Oh my god, did it hurt. I tried to tell her to stop but she just kept pulling. I have never, ever been in so much pain in my life. I got tunnel vision. I was sweaty. I hadn't had a panic attack in almost year, since I'd started therapy, but my body went ahead and had one then. Suddenly it hurt but also I must be having a heart attack or she was pulling my whole jaw off or I was going to pass out and then suffocate under my own tooth. I started crying -- big, ugly, loud sobs where the snot was draining down the back of my throat and I knew they could see it while they were fighting to get that tooth out of my head. No one once stopped to offer more anesthesia. It felt like hours passed, but by husband said it was only really about 15 minutes. She finally bothered to talk to me, first to tell me to stop moving and then to tell me I'd have to get braces before she'd do any more work on me, that I'd need implants but should really worry about getting my teeth bleached first so the implant could be as white as possible. I got out of the chair and just kept crying, instead of answering her.
I paid, out of pocket and full price, still ugly crying in the lobby. I'm sure I set off more nervous patients but I just couldn't stop. My whole body was shaking. My mouth was bleeding; saliva, snot, tears, and blood dripping down my face. I couldn't feel it, because my cheek was numb even though my gums apparently were not. It was truthfully one of the most painful and most embarrassing experiences of my life. I was 31 years old and bawling like a toddler in front of God and everybody. My husband, though, he wasn't embarrassed. He was furious! He walked to me our car, put me in the passenger seat and buckled me in, and went back into the office. I have no idea what he said to any of them, and I will never ask him, but he came out red-faced and with that one blood vessel bulging on his neck. We filled my prescription for Tylenol 3 and went home. I passed out on the couch watching Peppa Pig on YouTube and had some wild, scary hallucinations from the codeine in the Tylenol 3. I stopped taking it and decide that the whole experience just goes to show why I didn't need to go to the dentist. They couldn't do anything for me and now they were actively hurting me! All of my plans to finally turn my dental health around -- poof, gone, from that point forward. I would let my teeth rot out of my head and gum applesauce until the day I died.
Now
That was in July 2017. April 2018, I just...changed my mind. I'd developed a new cavity in a bicuspid that didn't hurt a lot, but was certainly uncomfortable. I have no chewing molars left on the other side of my mouth. I was craving nachos more than anything in the entire world, but couldn't chew them. The thought of living without Tex-Mex for the rest of my life may actually be what spurred me on. Which is sad, and a little ridiculous, but dammit, I really love chips and queso. I started googling about the shame and embarrassment of jacked-up teeth and discovered this site. Reading y'all's stories -- especially the success stories! -- really helped me be brave. I found an extremely highly rated dentist for nervous and phobic patients in the town we live in, called, made an appointment, and even WENT to the appointment!
I now have a treatment plan and 9 visits scheduled. I need one root canal and crown, a handful of fillings, one extraction, and root planing and scaling done. I have never, ever been to the dentist for anything other than emergency extractions and have no idea what I'm in for. I've found myself watching some disgusting YouTube videos of the procedures I need so that I'm mentally prepared.
My root canal and the first part of the scaling and planing is in two weeks. I'll report back as those procedures get a little closer, because I am straight up terrified.
If you've read this far, thank you for listening to me. Wish me luck, y'all!