The Dentist

Everyone hates the dentist. I feel bad for dentists because this fact is true. It’s nothing against them as people, of course. It’s just that the general public doesn’t like to be picked and prodded and asked, as full grown adults, whether they’ve flossed and brushed, and why not? etc.

I’m no exception to this. I don’t like the dentist. . For a vast number of reasons, actually. I’ll get into these in a second. But anyway, last week, I had to go for my biannual check-up.

I’m eighteen now, so I have to sign for everything, which is weird. And then of course my mom pays for it, haha.  After signing, I sat in the waiting room a while, until this young looking guy took me back and did my ex-rays. Next, I was put in the chair with my bib and the dentist came in and told me I had a small cavity, needed to get my sealants redone, and have I ever gotten a orthodontist consultation? (All my life, that’s all I’ve ever heard. Since my teeth have grown IN, they’ve been trying to strap metal to them. . It hurts the ego.) I told her politely that I have, so she left, and I started reading People’s magazine.

I quickly got engrossed in the devastating story of Baby Hope, the little girl they found stuffed in a cooler on the side of the road. Somehow, I didn’t realize there was a man sitting in the corner of the room. The man my dentist was saying “number 15 needs a new sealant, 14’s fine” and such. He suddenly spoke up and I almost jumped out of my skin and whacked him with the magazine. I didn’t. But wouldn’t that have made a good story? Haha, just had to share that.

Anyway. He told me that if they had the chance, they’d get my sealants done that day. But it didn’t happen, which is why I was back today. Oh goodie.

Last week, I was Tweeting almost all through my dental appointment. I just found myself so incredibly witty last week, and they kept leaving me anyway, so I had to share. Today I only Tweeted a little because I planned on coming back and telling you about my whole experience.

We arrive, get signed in, then wait in the waiting room. It felt like I was waiting forever just because I’m sick. And if I’m not curled up in bed, something is taking forever.

Finally a woman takes me down the hall and has me sit in the recliner and puts a bib on me. Then she proceeds to set up every little twisty utensil and sucker, and sprayer, and hooky thing. I couldn’t help wondering why she didn’t do this before asking me to sit. And I also wondered why I had to wear a bib to watch this process.

Oh the bibs. . No. I won’t go there. Moving on.

So the lady leaves me alone with my thoughts — dangerous. Probably to go and laugh at me in the next room since I’m sitting there like a blank-faced dummy, with nothing to do, wearing a paper bib on a chain. Honestly. I do not understand why they insist on putting the bibs on us the SECOND we get in the chair. Is it a rule? Do they not care that we look ridiculous? Are they concerned something is going to FALL FROM THE SKY and ruin our freshly pressed shirts? Yeah, I said I wouldn’t go there with the bibs. . I lied.

I saw a man peek out from the hallway when we first arrived. He was wearing his paper bib, brave soul. I feel like this is all a rouse to make us feel like we’re not wasting our time. Like, hey, at least I’m not still in the waiting room, this is the next step! Right? I mean, I’m wearing a bib, that MUST mean something is going to happen soon. Yet, we’re still waiting. We just look more ridiculous and have a private room while doing it.

What if we were to do that to a baby? Put the bib on the baby just to tease it but not feed it until half an hour later. This is how I feel about this.

My dental office has these framed posters of teeth in each room. Rotting teeth, chipped teeth, teeth with gaps. And then of course what the teeth look like after they’re fixed. I kept staring at the brown “before” photos and running my tongue along my teeth as if to confirm my teeth do not look like this. Besides those lovely posters, the only other entertainment is a computer screen, conveniently located a foot away from my face. It totally reminded me of my parents constantly saying “don’t sit too close to the TV, you’ll fry your eye sockets” when I was younger, which didn’t make sense for a Doctor’s office. And then I had to remind myself, I’m not at an eye doctor. Silly me.

I made the mistake of looking about at the needles and syringes, full of creepy blue liquid, positioned on metal trays in front and beside me, shuddered and thoroughly freaked myself out. From then on, I kept my attention on the bad teeth.

The lady finally came back and started on my cleaning. I KID YOU NOT, she went straight for the syringe with the creepy blue liquid. She squirted it on the top and bottom teeth on my left side and it was warm, bitter, and utterly disgusting. My poor tongue was flapping about my mouth, just trying to get away from it. (Let’s forget being attractive at the dentist. I’m already sick and just trying not to cough in anyone’s face. And being attractive is baloney.)  Then mercifully she sprayed water, and sucked, and sprayed water, and sucked.

When they have me close my lips around the sucker, I honestly don’t know what that sucker is sucking up, except the oxygen in my lungs. I need that! I feel like I’m being deflated.

Going back to the whole, not-being-attractive thing, this woman kept using the teeth mirror to pull my cheeks out. I have chubby cheeks to begin with, but they were obviously getting in her way. My face was being stretched in ways it didn’t know possible. Then she put a cotton tube next to my tongue, which was fine with me, it meant I didn’t have to taste the nastiness. Then she put a cotton blanket over my bottom teeth and tongue. She finished doing whatever she did, and removed the cotton blanket, followed by a line of spit. Oh, SO hot. She started to move on to other teeth, without removing the cotton tube, then as an after thought, seemed to remember it.

It was so awkward. I guess the tube slipped down, under my tongue, and she kinda had to fish around with her fingers until she could get a good hold on it and pull the nasty soggy thing out. I wanted to apologize.

When she finished, she said someone else was going to come in and do a little more cleaning. More cleaning? Should I be insulted? This time, it was worse with the bib. Because now I not only look like a baby, I look like I spat up on myself. . I probably did. And the lady showered my mouth and cheeks with, hopefully was water, so who knew what my face looked like. The dentist came in and did the rest, and my dentist seems pretty down to earth. She didn’t mind telling me like it is when she started poking around my mouth.

“Oh let’s stick a cotton swab in there. You’re slobbery.”

Yup. Sooo attractive. I guess I know why the last lady not only used one, but TWO things of cotton. The dentist took care of my “small” cavity. I didn’t have to use Novocain, which made me feel beast. Then she put “vitamins” (in English this means “gross”. I learned that early on) on my teeth as we tried to awkwardly talk about singing.

I find it . . . hard, when dentists are chatty and try to talk to you. Yes, you want to be friendly. But they’re not getting their work done, so you feel bad. And you just want to get it over with. And they don’t want to be rude and stick their fingers in your mouth when you’re in the middle of a monologue. It’s just awkward. But we tried. She told me to tell her if I audition for The Voice so she can vote for me. We talked about nails to. Haha don’t ask me how we got into that one.

So my dentist appointment of 2013 wasn’t so horrible, even though I’m a big baby and make it sound like it is. I’m actually starving now, since she said I shouldn’t eat for about an hour and a half.

So anyway. Until next time. *smiles and nods mysteriously, then turns and goes, running and screaming “FOOOOOOD!” all the way to the kitchen*


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