Thursday, August 26, 2010

Care for a root? (Canal!)

The good news, was that I finally got an appointment with the dentist.

That was also the bad news.

My regular readers will know I’ve had a bit of a run-in with anxiety and depression in the past. Part of my irrational response to stress has been to grit and grind my teeth, Marge Simpson style. Rather a lot actually.
(Apparently, hurting ones' self releases endorphins to make you feel better. Not that it actually worked!)

I would literally try and crack my teeth, even though I knew it was stupid, painful, and would make matters worse. (And that was just in my waking hours; while unconscious my teeth went mental. Apparently)..

And so it was that I managed to crack several of my teeth, even though I’ve always taken impeccable care with them (apart from the grinding and gritting. Obviously.)

I had tried mouth guards and retainers in the past, but I managed to grind my way through them in a matter of weeks rather than the months they were supposed to last.

(Also? Wearing mouthguards/retainers at night? So not sexy. Not at all).

So on my last visit to my usual dentist, she cautioned that if I had any more problems with a few particularly troublesome teeth I may have to consider a, gasp, root canal.

Words that would strike fear into the hearts of our bravest men and women, not to mention, er, me.

I mean most Aussie sheilas love the idea of a root, until you add canal to the scenario!

For a while, I tried to ignore the ache and swelling on the right side of my face.

Every time I ate or drink something cold or hot, or just for no damn reasons at all, my teeth and jaw would ache.

Anyway, the pain got so bad that I eventually sought the help of a specialist.

And all I have to say is those three little words: Best. Dentist. Ever.

Now, if you’re a celebrity or pretty well-heeled, none of this will be particularly new to you.

I’ve only ever gone to a very nice, but basic dental surgery. Good dentists, but no frills.

But this time I was seeing Dr Craig Duval at the Designer Dental Studio in Brisbane.

The only way I can explain it is that it’s like flying in cattle class instead of being upgraded to the pointy end of the plane, where drinks, food, blankies and smiles are de rigueur.

On entering the clinic, I’m immediately offered a cold glass of filtered water. Which I drink, despite the fact that I already have sensitive teeth, because I am thirsty. And a bit nervous. And it’s something to do.

There is also a decent coffee machine in the waiting room, as well as hot chocolate, fresh muffins, sugar-free sweets, and the latest magazines. (No decades-old, well-thumbed, out of print magazines here).  

But being anal, I like to keep my teeth ‘nice’ before I see a dentist, so I stick to the water.

Before I even get to the fiction section, I’m led into the torture chamber, er, consultation room. And surprise, surprise, it’s pretty nice.

The chair is like the Mother Of All Dental Chairs. Although I’m halfway upside down, I’m strangely comfortable, and find myself relaxing despite myself as I watch a seahorse give birth on the roof.

Okay, I need to qualify here: I am not on drugs. No seriously, I'm not! There is a TV screen on the ceiling, showing a wonderful underwater documentary, which together with the meditational music, almost lulls me into sleep.

Then Dr Duval comes in, and spoils it. Erm, I mean, he does an exam and an x-ray, and delivers the fatal news: I need a root canal.

He momentarily swaps the seahorse show for an x-ray of my teeth. Sure enough, one is just about touching the nerve, and the good news? I haven’t developed an abscess yet.

He advises having the root removed, waiting a few weeks while a special patch kills any nasty bacteria, and then hopefully finishing the root canal.

Now, I’ve been told for years that root canals are awful. Horrific. One friend told me she’d rather give birth again than endure another root canal.

So I was scared.

Dreadfully, wussfully scared. (OK, I just made that word 'wussfully' up, but it describes my feelings perfectly).

But Dr Duval and his lovely smiley assistant are so quick and gentle, the procedure is seemingly over in minutes. (Or maybe that was because of the seahorse effect! I also practised the focussed breathing I use in Mindfulness.)

The needles were injected effortlessly, quickly, and almost painlessly. The only pain was fleeting, nothing at all like I’m used to. The drilling, though horrid, was pretty much painless and mercifully quick. And it took much less time than my last filling. (Unless that was also the Seahorse Effect?)

Dr Duval’s assistant (and I’m sorry, I have forgotten her name so focussed on the actual, you know, root canal, as I was) was so sweet, continually patting my shoulder, reminding me to take deep breaths, and telling me I was doing well.

Kind of like I do to my kids when they’re having something nasty but necessary done.

And I’ll be honest: I’m 42, but it’s still nice to be patted on the shoulder and told you are doing okay.

I’m pretty sure I have a dental emotional age of about 5, but the caring staff didn't make me feel silly at all.

Recently, I returned for the second half of the toothy journey. It was a different assistant this time, but she was just as lovely, gently patting me, massaging my shoulders and reminding me to breathe deeply.

(Yes, I’ve already admitted I’m a wuss!)

This time the ceiling DVD was not quite as soothing. There were desert scenes, which were fine, all gently moving wildflowers and shifting sands. And then there were scenes of dingos eating an animal carcass and the bones of a long deceased beast in the red dirt.

But hey, it was all over pretty quickly and reasonably painlessly.

On my way out, I visited the loo (sorry for the oveshare but OMG!! It was just like the bathrooms in the pointy end of the plane but better. Along with a selection of perfumes and aftershaves, there were moisturing crèmes, toothpastes, floss, and individually-wrapped colourful toothbrushes.)


As far as I know my visit didn’t cost any more than a normal orthodontist, but the experience was so nice – as nice as a visit to the dentist could be – that I will happily recommend them to others. (As long as they don’t get too popular that I can never get an appointment …)
IF You Go: Designer Dental Studios, Calamvale, Qld.
Corner of Kameruka Street and Beaudesert Roads.
Phone 07 3711 4999

A selection of sugar-free lollies and iced water

The coffee/water area
The bathroom and loads of toothy goodies

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Stuff my kids say

One of the reasons I started my personal blog was as a way to keep a diary of our family life ... albeit a rather public online version, with photos as well. My New Zealand blog, is still a wonderful reminder of the time we spent across the ditch, even if it didn't end prettily.
I think it's great to have a permanent record of those gorgeous things kids say and do as they grow up. I've never been a crafty kind of girl, so I don't do scrapbooking, and even my photo albums are usually short-lived, amateurish affairs.
But I can write, and type, and work out how to get photos online ... So Maid in Australia is kind of my own permanent record of our lives. (And unlike real journals, it can't be shredded, eaten, torn up or lost by human or furry kids).
So without further ado, and with apologies to 'Shit My Dad Says', here is 'Stuff My Kids Say':

Miss 7's take on the upcoming election: "So it's between three people then ... Julia, that little man with the glasses, and the funny, baldy guy." Er ... well, kind of ...

Mr 9, on our wheelbarrow-lighting neighbours: "How come they get to light fires, and I don't?"

Miss 7 on my weekly hospital visits as part of my recovery from anxiety and depression: "Mumma goes to hospital to learn how to relax"

Mr 9: "I know what the C word is .... Crap!' (I breathed a big sigh of relief after that one..)

And here are a few pet names for common household products:

Jam Juice: A favourite with Miss 7, this is the runny stuff that collects in the middle of the jam jar, and is highly prized, especially if crumpets are involved.
Aminals: Animals
Grand New: As in Grand New car/bike/dress/jam jar/insert the name of anything new. Because when H. was little (well smaller than she is now) she couldn't pronounce her Bs.
Muzz: Short for Muzza (Mother). Because H. once couldn't pronounce her 'th's either.
Wet Cream: Whipped cream. As in: "Can we have pancakes and Wet Cream?"
Sinta: As in Santa. Because when Mr 9 was a toddler, that's how he pronounced it.
Narnie/Narnoo: C. and H's respective names for dummies (pacifiers) as babies.
Furry pigs: Wombats. As in: "Mum, look at the furry pigs!" Mr 9 points out he was still a toddler when he came out with that one!

Do any other families have funny sayings or nicknames they want to share?
Miss 7 a few years ago, with her favourite teddy and her collection of Narnies ... 'cos you could never have enough narnies!
C. in one of his first dress-ups as Sinta's Little Helper ....

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

More five things

In the spirit of my living mindfully, 5 things a day, here are 5 things that make me smile...

A tea party with the kiddies. Using our old broken microwave as a makeshift table!
Our naughty kitteh Hannah - taste-testing our dinner
Cooking with the kids. Carb-lover Miss 7's creation, a sun made out of chips and rice. With a little tomato sauce on the side.
When my kids are busy, contented and getting along. Here they are making something other than a mess!
My three kids - two little people and one furry baby - all getting along on a lazy Sunday morning. C. is reading to his little sister, who is cuddling our kitty.

Ah, it's a cliche, but the little things in life are often the best!