Getting Crowned

It was early afternoon when I was escorted into a room with a chair that looked deceivingly comfortable. The fact was that, if I’d been left alone, I could have had a nap but it was not to be. A paper bib was promptly clipped onto my shirt and then a needle inserted into my gums, to begin the process.

I hear from others that it’s the drilling that gets to them, but for me it’s the curvy trays with the goopy stuff that you sink your teeth into. I don’t know why, but I’d almost forgotten that this was what I was in for on this day. . . maybe it’s called selective memory. Several trays were done, while I was trying to tell myself to keep breathing. A sigh of relief escaped once the impressions were set and the inside of my mouth did not come out along with them. I thought of asking them to save the impressions for future work, but maturely decided against it.

Once my lip and jaw were nice and numb, the young dentist slid into his seat on my right again . . . looking rather much like a miner with his headgear. When did they start this? Another bright light from above was also directed onto my face. While he drilled and the pretty assistant looked on with her little suction hose, I had time to wonder about things not really befitting of a queen to be. Things such as, if my nose was clean or if my brows needed tweezing. And then suddenly . . . you guessed it, more impressions . . . this time for the temporary crown. I didn’t quite get this, but kept my mouth open as told.

So now my temporary crown is on, looking quite nice for being temporary, and I’m awaiting my real crown. What I'm happy about is that, at the next appointment, there will be no more trays.