Knackered at the Dentist with Benzos

   Hey there, Knackered here.  In the beginning was the fear. And the fear led to anxiety and it was not good.  I’ve generally worried about most everything for my entire lifetime.  And, of course, it’s what got me started on the benzos in the first place.  Things were bad to begin with and then they sent me to school.  It was within walking distance or running distance depending on who was chasing me.  The boxer dog on the corner was the worst.  I was fleet of foot and made it most days without teeth marks on my bum.  The only thing that kept me going throughout the day was the fact that I could visit the store next door after the bell rang and pick up another candy stash.  While I chewed and bubbled, Dr. Attila H. the dentist of my childhood waited for our arrival.  My father, the town barber, had no health insurance for us and most of our emergency dollar was spent on bike crashes, falls from trees and the like.  As a result, my mother hauled us to Dr. Attila only after most of the damage had been done.  While he scraped, filled and berated my brother and I for our lackadaisical oral hygiene,  (I once spotted a pair of pliers on his tool tray) my mother listened in and planned her own lecture for the home scene.  The result was stiffer new toothbrushes and orders to scrub harder.  I already displayed OCD tendancies and you can only imagine the number I did on my gums by junior high.  

   So, it is with great trepidation that I enter the dental office to this day.  The appointment was last Tuesday at 8:00 AM, which was a mistake in and of itself as that was the time that I usually went back to bed after giving up and getting up with the dog at 5:00.  Once there and they had called my name, I struggled to my benzo impaired legs and feet, grabbed my cane and headed back.  The hygienist of course was the one to be my dungeon master for the morning..  Nobody sees the actual dentist except for a brief moment or in case of oral reconstruction.  As I stumbled down the hall to the second door on the right, I acquired a few strained looks and the hygienist looked at me with pity in her eyes. 

   When you’re older they do more for you:  more intensive scraping, more stabbing of your gums with pointed little instruments, more lecturing about gum recession, pits of plaque, and threats of referrals to the paradontist.  It’s all in good fun of course and makes for a great beginning to your day.  When finished I was handed my ‘goody bag’, given a new appointment some months down the line. Oh great, something to put on the calendar and look forward to.  After lying down for an hour with my feet elevated above my head, standing up was quite the ordeal.  The whole benzo wd thing has played havoc with my dizziness and sense of vertigo, so I felt much like I used to on Friday nights when I lived in a fraternity house at college.  I made my way to my cane and down the hall to the pay station.  That’s right, you cannot take your teeth home without paying for them first. 

   I struggled with my wallet and payment card and dropped my cane in the process.  Oh shoot!  (that’s not what I really said., but I’m trying to obey the BB rules here).  While I paid up and signed the receipt, I noticed movement below me and assorted grunting and groaning.  What the?  I glanced down and saw a fellow my age squatting down and lifting my cane up so that I could grab it and exit.  He was barely able to get up, and here he was helping me.  I guess that it is what we do here.  Just try to make life a little easier for a friend in need.