I have an intense dental phobia. One of those debilitating fears that require special flags on my chart, heavy sedation and restraints. My mother suffered from the same affliction. Perhaps her mother before her did as well. But I am trying desperately not to pass on this handicap to my children.

But it is so hard.

I think good oral health is important, but it doesn't make the experience any more desirable for me. I drag myself and my kids there regularly, but not before a whole lot of pep talks and watching the Hoosiers trailer repeatedly. I have a medic alert bracelet warning EMS personnel that should I break my tooth on a popcorn kernel, I wish for no heroic measures to be taken.

Sadly, today if my friend can extract me from under the bed, I will be having my wisdom teeth extracted.

The oral surgeon--a nice chap--remarked that although my case wasn't particularly complicated, I would have a longer recovery time at my age. At my age.

I'm sorry; I must not have heard that correctly--hearing is one of the first things to go. Is he really suggesting that thirty (and a considerable amount of change) is somehow such an advanced age that I cannot handle anything he could dish out? Does he not realize that I am a mother? I've gone through labor. I've had 4 C-sections. Heck, I've had more medical procedures as a result from childbearing than he has given even if he practiced in Appalachia in the 1800's. I am tougher than a mere mortal because I produced four of them. I've been poked, prodded, kicked, stitched, bruised, battered and whipped. And that's just before breakfast. This morning. I have carried a 2 year-old around Disney World for 14 hours. In July. I have known pain.

He can take my wisdom teeth and a couple of incisors because as a mother, I'll still have more bite than a frenzied bull shark. Bring. It. On.

After this little pep talk to myself, I am not so scared of the dentist anymore. Paralyzingly terrified of the obstetrician, but the dentist, not as much.

(We'll see if I'm this mouthy later today.)

The next day, following oral surgery…

I lied, and I'm sorry. Sorry that I insulted the dental gods with my idiotic and completely unfounded declaration that I could handle the pain of wisdom teeth extraction since I had gone through childbirth.

As I lay here huddled in the fetal position after that heinous procedure, I realize I should issue a retraction--having your wisdom teeth out has absolutely no resemblance to childbearing. That is painfully clear to me now.

There are no epidurals that they can stick in your nose. Sure, they prescribe you some ample pain medication, but unless you've got a staff of caregivers to take care of your other children while you are under the influence, you can't reasonably take them and still be a functioning, upright parent.

When it's all over, there are no loving and doting grandparents waiting to take care of the little molar, just an insurance claim to file.

I was hoping that similar to childbirth, maybe I'd see an immediate weight loss since I can't eat anything solid. But those 6 milkshakes and chocolate puddings aren't doing anything for my waistline.

I can't even complain, because no one can understand me. They have to interpret my wince and my groan as, "Get me another Advil smoothie."

There is no beautiful new baby smell around the house. No bouquets of flowers or freshly laundered onesies with Ivory Snow. It just smells like saltwater rinses and antibiotics.

And worst of all? My face looks 8 months pregnant from the swelling.

So dentists the world over, please accept my deepest apologies. You are still at the top of the list for hurt. Compared to your sadistic practice, the obstetrician's capacity for pain is mere child's play.

©2008 Tracey Henry

Divamail me your condolences on my lost teeth. Divamail@Suburbandiva.com