When I walked in, I was greeted by a smiling receptionist and a Best of 2016 Seattle Met award. The clinic's esthetic draws from Japanese design, painted with a lovely grey palette with splashes of citrus. The music is louder than I would expect from a dentist's office, jamming tunes by Jack Johnson and that Kid Rock duet.
My initial visit was filled with paperwork minutae, x-rays, and the like. The doctor sat me down to mansplain to me in the most basic layman's the procedure.
My appointment was at 9:40. I got there at 9:20, because I am a conscientious person and I hate it when people are late. I put my ear buds in and watched some news.
I was taken into a cubicle filled with space-aged equipment and some chairs. I reassured myself that I wouldn't have anxiety attack. Dr. Tamala come in to numb me. He injects my gums and palette and leaves to let it sink in. Now, I'm in full anxiety mode. I get up, tears rolling down my cheek. I need my purse. The medicine inside is for GAD, a disorder that can be triggered by intense situations, like having hands in your mouth.
I retrieve a tiny pill. The assistant asks what I took. I told her, and she says I now need someone to drive me home. To assure her, I tell her that I have anxiety and that this is a prescription I've had for years. I sit down and count my breaths. A clamp, a pair of cycling glasses, and an ear bud later, we're off.
He says he fixes root canals a lot. I heard a few ughs and sighs. No big. I lean back, close my eyes and use breathing exercises to calm my heart and head.
The struggle apparently became real at some point, and I was told that my tooth might not be finished in one sitting.
I packed up my purse and headed out at around 12:30, with a Bell's Palsy droopy eye and unresponsive mouth. I kind of like this feeling, it's a change. It's the opposite of feeling. I think we all enjoy this vacation to some extent.
I ran errands until about 3, when the pain set in.
Over time it worsened. I sat on my couch complaining to my dogs open ear until 4:30, when I was in screaming pain. I called the office. Twice. Nobody answered, nobody called back. There's an emergency number for contacting the doctor on their outgoing message. I didn't want to bother him at home. I call my friend sobbing, and she says if I don't call him, she will. So I called, ugly crying and unable to catch my breath. Tamala answers. I ask him what I can do? Is this normal? He says that most patients don't experience pain like this and that I should take Vicodin. I tell him that I don't have Vicodin, and to take Advil. I told him that I am allergic to NSAIDS. I ask if there's anything I can physically do? An ice pack? He says that it won't do much. There's nothing he can do to help me. This whole time I'm sobbing, trying to catch my breath. Out of desperation, I ask Dr. Tamala if I should go to the emergency room. He says "IF YOU GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM, ASK FOR AN ANTIBIOTIC TOO, SOMETHING LIKE AMOXICILLIN." Hey says it like it's no big deal. Like, go to the ER and order some Vics and a fist full of antibiotics. At this point he's got me on the phone 10 minutes, telling me about other clients "discomfort." They conversation ends and I consider actually spending $700 going to the emergency room to stop the pain.
I call my friend, who has had dental trouble in the past. She explains the ER won't do anything for mouth pain, and might treat me like a drug seeker, fromom personal experience.
It's 5:30. My tears have turned into deep moans and I take my husband's Ambien.
This morning, I woke up to the doctor's assistant. She apologizes, says they all left at 4:00 yesterday. That's great for them, I like a nice early day. I let her know that I would leave a poor review today, because of how the situation was handled.
Later the doctor calls me. He tells me that he can have someone run some pain medicine to my home or work today. I work in customer service, not unlike him, touching people who rely on me to be sober whilst practicing my craft. "Would you like someone high on pills cutting your hair?" I ask. "No." Hey replies, of course. I tell him that the way he had handled the situation was very unprofessional and that he made me feel like my service was a burden. To that he replies "I'M SORRY YOU FEEL THAT WAY." to that I politely rebuked "That's a terrible backhanded apology and I don't wish to talk to you anymore."
Maybe that piece of paper, framed on the receptionist's desk has gone to his head? I'm unsure how he could have gotten any awards, all things considered. I wouldn't refer anyone I like to Dr. Tamala's office. Ever. read more
