It’s Not an Original Idea but I Wanna Talk about Root Canals

For some strange reason, I’ve loved all of them

Now I could lie and say that I got the idea to write about root canals after I wrote my Fantastik piece about root vegetables, Calling all Carrots, Root for Rutabagas. After all, it has the word root in it several times, with both meanings of the word — cheering and anchoring into the ground.

But that would be a lie. I must confess, writing about root canals was not my idea, originally. As in, I did not wake up this morning thinking, oh, boy, today I’m gonna write about root canals.

I got the idea for this topic from one of my favorite Medium humorists, Roz Warren. She wrote about her adventure with a root canal, right here:

Roz, I am so sorry your ordeal was so painful and for such a long time. Not trying to rub it in or anything, but it just so happened that my experiences with root canals have been lovely. All three of them. So without further ado, let’s get started.

Root canal number one:

I barely remember this one, but here’s the gist of the story: It starts with a bad toothache, I mean really bad toothache…so I go to the dentist who sends me to the endodontist where I get a novocaine shot and hold my mouth open for a really, really loooooong time. And voila! No more pain!

Okay, so there’s a strong smell of bleach while they work because they use it to clean the space left when the root comes out. But I love that smell. it reminds me of swimming pools from my childhood.

I go back in a few weeks and get crowned. Like royalty in my mouth. Queen of the teeth, smiling big, thanks to no more pain.

The reason they work, at least for me is, they take the nerve out. The nerve is what sends that pain sensation to the brain so we can scream, fly off our chair and get our butts to the DDS — which let’s face it, is not always our favorite way to pass the time.

It makes you wonder if the American Dental Association has a racket going with our teeth. But no, that’s not necessary. Most of us manage to neglect or mistreat our teeth all by ourselves, thank you very much.

Root canal number two:

Was just like root canal number one except for one important difference. My then dentist didn’t think I needed a root canal. He thought if he, emphasis on he, filled the cavity, all would be hunky-dory.

But I knew better. The body remembers its pain. That pain did not whisper, fill a cavity, and I’ll go away quietly. That pain screamed — I need a root canal and I need it now!

I didn’t wait for my dentist’s blessing. I made my appointment with the endodontist, my hero, my friend. He took a quick look in my mouth and said, I have bad news, Marilyn. You need a root canal.

And I said, no Doctor, that’s good news! It means the pain will be nipped in the bud and also, heh, heh, that I was right. Er, that my body or my intuition or — you know what I mean.

I never went back to that dentist.

Root canal number three:

It happened on July 4. I was spending the weekend with my then-boyfriend in San Mateo, California. I woke up with the unmistakable pain and was like, oh, shit, it’s a holiday. Who’s gonna do a root canal on July 4? No endodontist I knew.

But my friend got on the internet and the phone and found me an endodontist in South San Francisco who was open and even had an opening.

So I got an emergency root canal on July 4. Freedom Day! Freedom from pain is a great thing to celebrate. Even if you have to chew your BBQ on only one side of your mouth. Thank you, Doctor B!!! I sang her praises up and down and all over Yelp!

Actually, I’ve had two more since then, at least.

But these have been unremarkable except to say, they did what they needed to do and I am very grateful. I keep going back to the same endodontist who is literally across the street from my regular dentist.

She wants me to come in July. There’s some work we were supposed to start in March, but Corona interrupted us. I enjoy her and her lively assistant, who keeps me laughing in the most enchanting way. Most likely, things will go well in and around my crown, and I will not need yet another root canal.

Frankly, I don’t think I have any roots left in my mouth. Which is great for the pain, though it shows you how bad my teeth were. So now If I want some roots in my mouth, I’ll have to eat rutabaga. Fortunately, I know where to find them as well as read about them.

Marilyn Flower writes political humor and satire to delight socially and spiritually conscious folks. She’s a regular columnist for the prison newsletter, Freedom Anywhere, where she writes about faith and prayer. Five of her short plays have been produced in San Francisco. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times.