In all reality, it was as pleasant as a trip to the dentist could be. My dentist is funny, kind, and gentle, and she even gave me a stuffed bunny to hold while my cavities were being filled. I wanted to ask to take a photo of the fluffy bunny for this post, but I had already made the stuffed bunny wave to the dental hygienist when she walked in the door and dance to that "Last Christmas" song on the radio, I figured taking a picture would be one step too far.
My only purpose in writing this blog is to share the ridiculousness of getting cavities filled on Christmas Eve and to make a little tribute to the dentist. Below is a paper I wrote for a college creative writing class and I thought it was rather appropriate to share today.
The
Dentist: Friend turned Foe?
I have good news and bad news. Even
though people usually say they want to hear the bad first, I’m going to go
ahead and start with the good news: you get to leave work early. The bad news? You
have a dentist appointment. You could be leaving work early to go to the
dentist for a number of reasons: a root canal, a broken tooth, or you might
just want to take advantage of your health insurance in combination with your
paid sick leave and get out of work at two instead of five. Perhaps you are
scheduled just for a regular checkup; possibly during which your dentist will
offer you a choice between gritty flavored toothpastes, such as cherry or fruit
punch. After that tough decision
has been made, your dentist will proceed to scrape your teeth with some invasive
metal instrument. Maybe you need a cavity filled, which will most likely end
with your dentist giving you the sage advice that you really should be flossing
more.
I have to bring it up . . .the smell. You
can smell the dentist’s office while you are still standing outside. Even
Mother Nature cannot conquer the stench. It is potent enough to cover up the
smells of the fall leaves, the fresh grass, blooming flowers, or new snow. I
googled what this smell is and found many Facebook pages dedicated to the
hatred of the dentist office smell, multiple studies on how this smell evokes
fear in people, and a list of origins for this smell which includes an
extensive list of unpronounceable chemicals . . .and bone. Yes, bone. Part of
what you smell when you enter a dentist’s office is the bone of the teeth that
were drilled out of those who have come before you.
One Thursday afternoon, I was making my
very own trip to the dentist to get a cracked tooth fixed. After I made it
through the force field of the too recognizable stench that protects the door
to the dentist office, I found myself alone in the waiting room with nothing
but four other empty chairs, a plant posing as a miniature tree in the corner,
and a magazine holder hanging from the wall to keep me company. There was no
music playing, no mother comforting a crying child; all I heard was the sound
of the drill. Having music playing in the waiting room at the dentist’s office
is not an innovative idea; it is common sense. So, I went to the magazines.
Reading about celebrities’ lives in People
or UsWeekly is a guilty pleasure and
a waiting room gives a justifiable reason. No luck. I found Better Homes and Gardens, Ladies Home Journal, Family Circle, and Woman’s Day. I have neither husband nor garden. And what were to
happen if a man needed to get a cavity filled? Or, maybe all of the men just
floss regularly.
During my lunch break on that Thursday, I
was talking to my coworkers about the fact that I was going to leave early to
have my broken tooth fixed. The third grade teacher told me to bite my dentist.
The fifth grade teacher told me she would rather go to the gynecologist than
the dentist. Is the dentist really such a pure form of evil? I don’t get this
stream of negativity when I talk about other doctors, such as a foot doctor,
skin doctor, or eye doctor. Then again, an optometrist doesn’t have to drill
into my eyeballs. I remember the next comment as if it were a preview to a bad
horror movie. Almost in slow motion, the sixth grade teacher looked up form her
sandwhich (mid-bite) and had a look of warning in her eye as she said to me,
“If I had to battle the devil or the dentist, I’d choose the devil.”