Road map not needed for 'root canal city'

After spending more than a decade foregoing dental care, I had to face the fact that some of my teeth were like crumbling tombstones in a graveyard everybody has forgotten about.

Cutting dentists out of my life was quite convenient. The dentist I had growing up was a sadist with a Rolex watch and boat payments. Not having any dental insurance or vast sums of money made the decision to ignore my dental needs that much easier.

But I could only ignore those needs for so long. So here I am, floating into root canal city.

Root canals are rightly renowned as one of the more unpleasant dental procedures, but that's about all I can confirm. I'm sure I was given some pamphlets explaining them in non-threatening terms and illustrations, but I couldn't be bothered to actually read them.

I figured the less I know about them the better. I have undergone several root canals and can honestly say I still don't know what the procedure involves. I merely show up, sit down and check out.

Using the glint of some stainless steel implement headed toward your pie hole as a cue to clamp your eyes shut helps. Novacaine and nitrous oxide gas help tremendously. So does music played through headphones.

I've found that the delicate clamor of a Detroit band called the White Stripes works best for drowning out a procedure that may or may not involve a router and a circular saw.

The guitars howl just enough to drown out the whirring of hand tools or whatever. But the underlying melodies are soothing and, best of all, it's basically the blues. There is something comforting in appreciating the misery others endure while you endure your own.

I am still trying to figure out which music goes best with paying the bill, though.

? Keith Kinnaird is a reporter and the Daily Bee's news editor