4:20 p.m. - 2005-08-08
Steve Martin ain't got nuthin' on my dentist
Today I went to the dentist.
Whenever I have any sort of appointment for anything from the dentist to the eye doctor to the gynocologist, I internally freak out a little, certain that the news is going to be awful. Every freckle is skin cancer. Every ache is early arthritis. Every bump is a tumor. Each tooth is on it's way out the door, sealing my fate as a denture wearer by the age of 30.
Today, I decided I probably had at least five cavities. At least. And probably needed a root canal. And a porcelain crown. Whatever that is.
I sit in the chair and chat with the dentist, the man who took care of my teeth from about age 8 through college. We broke up for the Seattle years, but now we're back, in tune with each other as ever. He knows to watch the gums with the scraping and I know not to bite. He always knows just when to use that sucky thing so the bloody saliva does not slide down my throat, causing all sorts of unpleasant gagging and trauma. As he scraped and updated me on his children (our families used to vacation together) I prepared myself for the worst. I ran numbers in my head, cursing my place of employment for not having dental insurance. If I don't eat for a month, will I have enough to pay for the replacement of all of my silver fillings? I thought about that awful, AWFUL drilling sensation. That horrible sound. When are they going to event a drill that sounds like birds singing or the ocean waves? And that smell? That burning, horrible smell. Can't they make it smell like vanilla or brownies or maybe even that TAG body spray that is supposed to turn women into predators, chasing single-mindedly after her Abercromie prey. I wonder if I have any prescription narcotics lying around with which to knock myself out a bit beforehand, I thought.
"....nearly perfect." I hear Doc Walk say. "EXCUSE ME?" I ask, waiting to hear the bad news.
"Your teeth are nearly perfect. Keep brushing and flossing. I don't need to see you for a year unless you really want a six month cleaning."
I almost cried. I think God sent an angel down last night and replaced all of my molars because I am telling you...I went to the dentist last year and he told me I had three small cavities and that my fillings should be replaced.
Dentists are like frrreaking mechanics! They know you don't know what the hell is going on in there and so they just add on all these additional procedures to try and jack up your bill. It's like something between the mechanic who screws you over and the waitress that brings over that damned cheesecake tray after you are already so stuffed, you wish you could regurgitate into the bus boy's dish carryer thing and you suddenly hear yourself going "Wellll....Got any with raspberry sauce? Yeah? Ok, just a small one...."
