I WORRY THAT THE VALIUM ISN'T GOING TO MAKE ME NOT WORRY ENOUGH...

I have a dental procedure coming up, and because I am a person who believes deeply in modern medicine right up until modern medicine is actually happening to me, my dentist has prescribed Valium. This should be reassuring. There is literally a medication whose job is to make me less anxious about the thing I am anxious about. What could possibly be more comforting?

Unfortunately, I have now started worrying about whether the Valium is going to make me not worry enough, which means the Valium has somehow become another item on the list of things I need the Valium for.

My first concern is that it won’t work. People are always saying, “Oh, don’t worry, it’ll take the edge off,” as though we all have the same edge. What exactly are we talking about here? A light sanding? A gentle buffing? Because I don’t need the edge softened. I don’t want to remain fully aware that a dental procedure is happening but feel slightly more evolved about it. I would like the edge removed from the premises. I would like it in another room, preferably another zip code, while I lie there thinking vaguely about what I’m having for lunch.

Naturally, I ask everyone how long Valium takes to kick in, even though I have taken Valium before and thus already know approximately how long Valium takes to kick in. But this time could be different. Maybe I ate too much. Maybe I didn’t eat enough. Maybe my metabolism has suddenly become extraordinarily efficient in the one circumstance in which I would prefer it to sit this one out. I want to know whether there will be a discernible moment when I cross over from I absolutely cannot do this to you know what, do whatever you need to do in there, and, more importantly, how I know beforehand that this moment is definitely coming.

My husband thinks the answer is simply to take the medication as prescribed and trust that it will work, which is exactly the kind of breezy attitude toward controlled substances that makes me realize he cannot be part of this conversation. I need somebody willing to entertain the possibility that the Valium might not work, might wear off early, might make me feel weird, might make me too tired, or—where the entire operation really begins to unravel—might work so beautifully that I discover I really enjoy not being anxious.

Because lately I have started worrying about becoming dependent on Valium.

To be clear, I do not take a lot of Valium. I take it for things I am legitimately anxious about: dental procedures, MRIs, occasionally flying, and basically any medical encounter involving the phrase “you may feel some pressure.” But I have noticed that I like knowing the Valium is available, and apparently that is all the evidence my brain needs to open a full-scale investigation into my possible descent into benzodiazepine dependency.

I can practically hear the questioning. You say you don’t need Valium, yet you seem relieved when you know you have Valium. How do you explain that? Well, I also like knowing I have an umbrella when it’s raining, but nobody has staged an intervention over my relationship with umbrellas. Still, the seed has been planted, so naturally I do the one thing universally recommended for people who worry too much: I Google it.

“How often can you take Valium without becoming dependent?”

This is not a search that ends with Google saying: Sounds like you’re handling this beautifully. Enjoy your evening.Within minutes I am reading about tolerance, dependence, withdrawal, and long-term benzodiazepine use, and despite having taken approximately four Valium over the entire Biden administration, I am mentally checking myself into a discreet rehabilitation facility in Arizona. I picture my family visiting and asking where it all went wrong, and I have to explain that it started with a periodontal procedure on East 60th Street.

Now I begin auditing my own motives. If I didn’t have the dental procedure, would I want a Valium right now? No. Excellent. But if I had the dental procedure and someone told me I couldn’t have the Valium, would I still go? Absolutely not. Less excellent. Does this mean I’m dependent on Valium, or does it simply mean I am dependent on not being completely terrified while someone approaches my mouth with surgical instruments?

By the night before, the dental work itself has become almost secondary. I put the Valium on my nightstand and briefly consider not taking it, just to prove I don’t need it. Then I remember that not taking it would mean spending the morning in escalating panic, which is why my dentist gave it to me.

This is how I find myself seriously contemplating whether I need a Valium to relax about taking my Valium, which feels like either the beginning of a problem or the most compelling evidence yet that I am exactly the person Valium was invented for.

I mention this to my husband, who says, “So take it or don’t take it,” which is somehow both correct and the least helpful sentence a person has ever said to me.

Tomorrow I will take the pill. I will go to the dentist. I will sit in the chair and presumably, somewhere between I cannot believe I agreed to this and the first terrifying appearance of an instrument, the famous edge will begin to come off. I may even relax. I may feel pleasantly unconcerned. I may wonder why I spent three days worrying about something specifically designed to make me stop worrying.

And then, obviously, I will worry that I liked it too much.