The Root of the Matter

While getting the second half of a root canal procedure today, I was contemplating whether or not I could die by  drowning in my own saliva.

There I was in the endodontist's chair, bright lights pointing at my face, a pair of protective goggles over my eyes and a dental dam pulled taut over my gaping wide mouth (at last I understand the non-sex-ed reason for a dental dam! Eureka!). I knew the spit was starting to pool at the place where my mouth becomes my throat, and swallowing occasionally was not taking care of business for me. My mouth had been open so long that my lower jaw was trembling uncontrollably. Suddenly I was very aware of how calmly I had been using only my nostrils to breathe during the procedure. I imagined what would happen if I were to panic due to the large and growing pool of saliva down in there. To stop breathing easily and start "getting real" (if I may quote the Real World MTV). This made me stop for a second and almost panic. But then I realized all that would do is cause unnecessary drama and possibly mess up my endodontist's steady hand. And who wants that to happen when he is deep up in your tooth with some sharp, scrape-y instrument? Not this girl. I managed to continue breathing evenly until he finished the job. The saliva pool was just getting big enough for small frogs to dive into when the dental dam was removed and his assistant went to town with the suction tube. Gone was my fear of drowning in my own juices. Hooray for science.

Now I am left fat-lipped and ready to park it on the couch and watch some Netflix. Whose with me?