Do dentists really have the highest suicide rate?

Steve Martin as Dr Orin Scrivello in The Little Shop of Horrors

I would have to say I didn't go very easy on my dentist Friday afternoon. By the time he walked into the room, where I was sitting up rigid as a statue and looking as mean as I could with a pink drool bib fastened around my neck, I was already crying. He asked how we were doing today and I told him I had been waiting a week to tell him that the Novocaine shot he gave me a week prior was the most painful shot I had ever received--and I have received many in 41 years.

This of course increased the tears and I think I noticed him roll back a little in the chair he had just occupied. "Would you like to come back another time?"

I just stared at him. Why, I thought. Are you going to be on vacation and have someone here that can give a painless shot?

No, I managed to say, it was difficult enough to schedule an extra appointment in after things went so godawful wrong last time. That was the time you gave me a shot that I wish had killed me, removed my temporaries, and THEN noticed there were faults with the $900 crowns and we couldn't use them. A bloody painful rehearsal, if you will. Coming back isn't a thought that comforts me.

Should we just do this without Novocaine? He then suggested. Yeah, I thought, and maybe you could squeeze in a colonoscopy while you're at it.

No, I countered, but I would like to consider ways we might make those shots less painful. Can we leave the topical on a bit longer? (Last time he swabbed my gums once and then reached for the gun.) That's won't make a difference, he said. Funny, I said, all the other dentists I've seen seemed to think so, and ALL OF THEIR SHOTS WERE LESS PAINFUL.

Gosh, he said, feigning hurt feelings, I've won awards for my shots! From whom, I wondered: Hitler's Death Camp Doctors? No award from me, I'm afraid, I told him. Man, I can be such a bitch when cornered by a very large stainless steel hypodermic needle.

Let's just do this, I said, and I sat back in the Throne of Pain. Would you like nitrous oxide? He asked. Yes, I said, preferably intravenously. I tried to breath it in as much as I could given that my sinuses were now completely clogged up from my preparatory crying spell. He ran the numbing gel across my gum and tossed the swab as he walked out of the room. I've never had a dentist not leave the swab in my mouth for several minutes. I almost reached into the trash for it as I heard him chatting up the patient next door.

Unfortunately for me he did not run into Oscar the Grim Feline on his rounds and returned quickly with the gun. My one comfort in this was that I was certain it could not hurt as badly as it had last time. I was wrong.

During this time, which probably lasted seconds but seemed to go on interminably, I imagined the strangest scene. (I'm sure the gas helped.) I had been chiding myself earlier for being such a pussy about a dentist visit when soldiers and civilians were getting blown up all over Iraq. Now, under the full influence of laughing gas and awe-inspiring pain, I pictured a medic leaning over me and asking if this was the first limb I'd lost. Of course, I was in too much pain to respond, but what an asinine question, I thought. What, was he too busy to run a count of limbs on the table before him? Still, he kept asking, "Is this your first limb lost..?" I wondered why I felt no pain in my extremities but my head felt as if it was exploding from a well-placed grenade.

Suddenly I was back in the dentist office, where my dentist was still going at it, explaining that he'd better give it a little extra since I was feeling particularly sensitive today. Award-Winning Sadist, apparently.

Tears filled my ears as he cranked the gas some more and left the room to torture other innocent people. It was strong--very strong. I had to drive across town with my dogs after this... "Is this the first limb you've lost?" The medic was back. Or maybe it was a different one just asking the same question. Man, I thought, all that medical training and they still can't count a patient's limbs worth shit. Finally I managed to lose consciousness temporarily on the gas--another good sign it's on a little strong. That was a bit unnerving, so when I came to briefly (wondering if people snored on gas) I tried to shake it off a bit. I lowered the mask and blew my nose, breathing in fresh air for a few minutes. There was no telling what they'd try to get away with if I wasn't "around" to keep an eye on them.

Just as an assistant I did not know sat down to remove my temps, Doc returned and swept her away with a wave of his hand. I'll take care of this one, he told her. I pictured him winking at her over my head. He removed my temps and prepped the teeth. He tried on the first crown, then the second.

"Oops," he said, reminiscent of the "Shoot" he'd uttered last week when he saw the pinhole in my new crown. I froze. "Give us a little cough," he said. "Let's just get that out of there." I coughed, wondering why he'd be worried about me swallowing a piece of cotton. As I coughed, I realized it wasn't cotton. The assistant brought my chair upright with such speed I do believe she broke the world record.

The dentist had dropped a crown in my throat. "Gee," he said, "That's never happened before. We're getting all sorts of firsts with you." I'll bet you say that to all the tear-soaked, crown-swallowing patients. I coughed one more time and saw the crown land in my lap. I quietly handed it back to him.

They left the gas off after that. I guess they wanted to keep my reflexes sharp. The crowns were cemented on without further incident, and he dremeled down the high points. After mentioning something about checking in with them later to see how these were treating me, he left the room so quickly I thought for a moment he was wearing Heelys. I exited almost as quickly. The doors to the outside were already locked but I was able toss a large chair through the waiting room window to get to my car. As my wheels screamed out of there I wondered if I should put the chair back in the waiting room.

Deciding it was only right, I put my car in park and retrieved the glass-covered chair. As delicately as possible, I threw it back into the waiting room through the other glass window. That was better. Wouldn't want there to be any bruised feelings. I returned to my car and drove to pick up my dogs.