As an anxious person, my yearly dental cleaning is, in theory, a manageable experience. I say “in theory” because I know it doesn’t involve anesthesia, needles, or anything dramatic — just a little discomfort and that ultrasonic sound that feels like it’s vibrating directly inside your brain.
I scheduled my appointment calmly. In my mind, I already knew the script:
“You have a tiny cavity, we can fix it right now.”
No pain, no drama. Just a quick visit and I go home relieved.
The cleaning itself was… acceptable. The ultrasonic scaler squeaked through my skull, I flinched a few times when the gums were sensitive, but overall, I survived. Almost relaxed, I dare say.
Then came the recommendation: an X-ray of a root-canal-treated tooth, just to make sure everything looked fine.
I did the X-ray and, like any responsible modern human, I asked ChatGPT what it thought. The verdict was clear: the root canal might need to be redone.
I returned to the dentist mentally prepared for disaster. The dentist looked at the X-ray and said:
“It actually looks better than I expected. Let’s redo the filling first and see.”
At that moment, ChatGPT officially became too pessimistic, and I instantly preferred this far less stressful version of reality.
Redoing the filling was not exactly a walk in the park. It was more like a walk in the park… with back pain and mild existential dread.
Lying completely flat in the chair, mouth wide open, my anxious brain switched into full apocalyptic-scenario mode. I started thinking about that magical piece of latex that isolates the tooth — the rubber dam. Why isn’t she using it? What if pieces of filling fly into my throat? What if I choke? Why didn’t I ask beforehand?
I barely finished the thought when I heard:
“Please prepare the rubber dam.”
Relief. Almost spiritual relief. The apocalypse was postponed.
The rubber dam was placed. And with it came brand-new catastrophic scenarios. That tiny metal clamp holding it in place — what if it pops off and I swallow it? I’m completely horizontal. Mouth fully open. Last molar in the back. Physics is not on my side.
Meanwhile, a full medical documentary was running in my head: all the blood in my body was clearly rushing to my head. That’s definitely how gravity works. Obviously I was about to have a stroke. The glass ceiling above reflected my face — or what I imagined was my face. Was my mouth crooked? Yes. Stroke confirmed.
The upside: at least my filling would be fixed.
The procedure continued. At one point, the dentist stepped away for a few seconds. My jaw started trembling. I had no way of communicating anything happening in my mind. I just lay there, starring in my own internal medical drama.
Then came the verdict:
“We have bacteria on the canal. The treatment needs to be redone.”
In my mind: ChatGPT, couldn’t you just accept defeat?
Options were presented: temporary filling and return later, or redo the root canal. I wanted to say: do everything now, let’s just finish this. But with the rubber dam in place and anxiety driving the situation, I managed only a small nod for the temporary option.
I stood up. Blood returned to its normal circulation pattern. I told the dentist there were a few moments when I felt like running out of the office. I apologized. She smiled.
Two weeks later, I was back. Same scenarios: the clamp flying off, the stroke from too much blood in my head — plus a new character in the story: anesthesia. For an anxious brain, every detail becomes a potential catastrophe.
All three root canals were carefully treated under a microscope. The final filling sealed everything. Now I’m waiting for a follow-up X-ray to confirm that these two visits were successful and that we won.
And then… we’ll meet again in a year.
Wish me luck.