(Dentistry + Fear)-Happiness= White Coat Syndrome

I am PMS-ing.
I am not smoking. Seriously, haven't cheated once.
I am eating like someone who's been on a month-long hunger strike (see previous statement).
I'm seeing the dentist tomorrow, probably to fill more cavities.
Our flat still only has three pieces of furniture.
I haven't had a haircut in 7 months ( I don't have the time nor the patience, really).
And London has consistently had weather that makes it feel like this:



But I'm very happy lately, and it seems that I am making good on my secret resolution to not stress about stuff. It's a nice feeling. I read somewhere in a health magazine that if you force yourself to smile even if you don't want to, your brain will be tricked into producing the warm-fuzzies. It has something to do with the muscles around the face and eyes- if they're triggered, your brain produces some serotonin. I manage to be a contradiction when I trudge to work in the morning, dead-tired, but the inner monologue in my head is: la, la, la, la, let's listen to some Feist on the iPod! I love that 1,2,3,4 song!

Now, my only hurdle is the dentist. Too bad that when he stretches out your face to give you an exam, it doesn't quite produce the same warm-fuzzy results. In fact, when the hygienist starts poking at my mouth with what might as well be an icepick I feel like kicking her. Hard.

Yes, it's obvious that I loathe the dentist. Sorry to any of you who are married to them (but you must have awesome teeth!), but I can't help it. The metal scraping against my teeth, the digging under my gums, the cold shock of sensitivity I feel when a tender spot is poked, and the diagnoses that never fails to scare the life out of me (every year): Yep. It's a cavity.

I feel like those slow-motion parts in movies, my mouth contorting to yell NNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO while I leap out of my chair, reaching for the door.

I like my teeth. They're my pride and joy. 4 years of braces, 6 fillings and one root canal, and they're still nice and white and square. Unfortunately, they keep getting softer with age- they're very susceptible to cavities and chips, and I very often have dreams that they're going to all fall out. My wonderful dentist in New York, whom I absolutely adore and trust, had been with me for 5 years before I moved, and now that I'm here, I hadn't wanted to visit the dentist yet, I had nervousness about the unknown. But, of course, after feeling some all too-familiar pangs of a cavity the other day, I knew I should. I booked an appointment for tomorrow morning, and I can say I'm really nervous. And when I get nervous, I resort to my 10-year old habit of involuntarily grabbing the hygienist's arm before she starts poking. Just to reassure myself and to remind her to go slow. And the whole time I'm in the chair until they take that adult bib off of me, I'm barely breathing, my eyes are darting from one piece of equipment to the next, I've made nail indentations in the vinyl chair, and I'm secretly praying that it's perfectly legal for them to bust out the gas mask and put me under for a routine procedure.

Is it bad form to show up drunk? You think I'm kidding.