My kids and I went to the dentist yesterday, for our semi-annual cleaning (a luxury not afforded to my siblings and I when we were kids) and somehow the subject of dentists and dentistry became the topic of conversation.
There probably isn't a high percentage of the population that would say they "like" going to the dentist. I would be one of them. There's just something about the screech of the baby powerhose boring into your jaw that can be unnerving, but that isn't the only reason I don't look forward with gleeful anticipation to my six month check-ups.
The hygienist asked if I was up to using the water drill or if the scraper was all I could manage that day. I told her I felt like I could deal with the water so she said she'd go ahead and use it, but if I was uncomfortable at any point, to raise my left hand and she would desist and use the scraper instead. I thought it was an option she extended to all of her patients until she had finished and said, "you did really well this time. You didn't clench your fists at all!"
My dentist comes in to check things out and asked if I had any concerns and whatever he said after that brought a most heinous memory to my mind.
It was the fall of '96 and I was preparing to submit my papers for my mission (I served an eighteen month mission in Washington state for my church). There were several tasks I needed to complete before turning in the paperwork and one of them was seeing a dentist and having any potentially problematic wisdom teeth removed. At the time missionaries were anywhere from 19 to 26 years old, prime adult teething time.
During this time I worked at a grocery store to earn money for my clothing and other necessaries. I worked the overnight shift straightening shelves and putting items discarded just anywhere back where they belonged. Which, by the way, people who abandon their ice cream in the toy section should be required to buy not only the ice cream but everything the ice cream ruined as it melted.
Lazy people suck. Don't be a lazy person. Put the ice cream back.
Anyhoo, I had an appointment with a dentist one morning after my shift. This is relevant because by the time I got to the office, I had already been awake for over 24 hours. I had an appointment, but even with said appointment I waited in the lobby until, I kid you not, NOON. My appointment was at 9:00 a.m.
Appointments are a thing so that episodes like this DON'T happen. At any rate, I was exhausted by the time the dentist got me into a chair. They took x-rays, cleaned my teeth, assessed the damage (four cavities, remember dental care was not a priority when I was a youth. I'm surprised it wasn't worse) and made a plan to fill said cavities as well as declaring I had but one wisdom tooth that would ever be an issue as is was the only one I had. This was inaccurate as my two top wisdom teeth opted to erupt when I was twenty four years old and had just, weeks before, completed my orthodontic treatment.
So back in 1996, I had been sitting in the waiting room for hours when they asked if I wanted to take care of the cavities and wisdom tooth at the same time and that day. I had already been there half the day so the thought of coming back to spend another day did not appeal to me AT ALL, and they promised the whole procedure would be completed in an hour. They didn't say what hour and I guess it's my fault for not asking.
Two hours later, I was in the chair having my cavities filled. By that point I was so tired everything was blurry and I had a hard time understanding English. After filling my teeth, they sent me back to the waiting room, AGAIN, where I spent another hour hallucinating in between short patches of sleep.
They took me back to the chair around three and proceeded to numb my face so they could tear out my one molar. I thought maybe I was remembering things incorrectly when they numbed the left side of my face because that one molar was supposed to be on the right side, but I was tired and he was the doctor so I kept quiet.
He sliced open my gum and started digging around then said, "there's no tooth here." I nodded and mumbled "that's because it's on the other side." He and the nurse looked at each other, then looked at the x-ray and he reached over and turned the r-ray around. It would have been hilarious...if it hadn't been me and it hadn't been a true story.
The lack of sleep, the eternal day in the lobby and the epic screw up all hit me at once and I started to cry. Not great, swelling, well-deserved sobbing, but silent tears running down my cheek, into my ears (as I was lying back in the chair).
Do you know what that fool said to me?!
"Why are you crying?"
Maybe because I'd been awake for so long I was seeing colors that didn't exist? Or because I was going to miss the next episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer? It could have been because I couldn't find any rubber pants in my size or maybe it was because I'd spent the whole day sitting in the waiting room of some dingus with a degree! Give me that scalpel! I'll show you why!
Then he told me he wouldn't charge me for the cut.
What relief! I instantly felt better. Just kidding. I only wanted to cut him deeper.
I should have told my step-dad when he came to pick me up. He would have stomped that dentist into the ground. Not because he hurt me, mind you, but because he had the nerve to charge for his services in total, minus the one errant slice to my face hole.
Instead, I got into the car and rode home in silence as he laughed about my swollen face.
And I ended up with a dry socket.
I wonder if there is a statute of limitations...
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