Not sure how much I can write tonight - still reeling from my semi-annual trip to the dentist. Most of this was mentally written while I was lying like a cadaver in the soft, inviting chair that dental people use to dupe patients into thinking we'll be comfy......which we are for the 37 seconds between sitting down and being thrown back so metal spears can be shoved into our mouths. I needed to find a happy place, so I wrote in my head. Still shaken, I now empty my thoughts to you.
**I've been to the dentist, what - 40, 50, 75 times in my life? Every trip ends the same way: The chair tilts back up, the blood that's pooled around my brain drains, I dry my tears, and get my rear end chewed for not flossing well enough. Same story tonight....and I've got to tell you, I've had it. For over 30 years I've been listening to the same song and dance about how important it is for me to floss daily, how it will prevent this and strengthen that, and - here's the real kicker - how if I flossed more the dental hygienist person wouldn't have to spend so much time cleaning my teeth. Well exxxcuuuuuuuse me, ma'am, for coming to my six-month cleaning to have you, you know, clean my teeth! Did I delay your vacation plans or something?
**I wonder what possesses a person to think about career options and decide "I've got it! I want to spend all day every day sniffing halitosis and cramming my hands into mouths!" Granted, there are a couple of less desirable orifices on the body, but still - I can't imagine what must be lurking in and around some of the bicuspids that visit dental offices. Any of you readers ever think about that while the dental hands are in your mouth, the disgustingness of some of the other mouths those same hands were in during the day? Don't.
**Am I the only one overwhelmed by the powerlessness I feel once that chair-of-despair drops me into position? All the blood in my body pools above the shoulders. Can't sit up. Can't roll sideways. Can't even talk, what with a wide open mouth filled with a stranger's hands. The dental demon could build a bonfire on my tongue and roast hot dogs for a snack and there'd be nothing I could do to stop it. Dang, a fire-roasted hot dog sounds really good....
**And hey, how about those awesome dental tools that look a little like something Captain Hook would've worn (had he been eight inches tall)! Anyone remember their parents' admonishments to NOT scrape the fork on your teeth while eating? "The metal will ruin your enamel!!" Uh, mom - the dental torturer spent, I'm pretty sure, two hours grinding, scraping, and prying on each tooth with a metal hook-spear thingy! Today I saw at least two different hooks enter my mouth, one spear, the cute little mirror, an air gun, a water gun, a suction hose, a small chainsaw, 150 grit sandpaper.......and then some sort of high-intensity water jet laser blaster that had a name I didn't understand but upon hearing said name an iciness of fear erupted in my core. Oh wait, and the polishing spinner thing. Followed by "dental floss" that felt suspiciously like baler twine. You don't suppose they bring out a brand new set of torture implements for each patient, do you? No, once again we have to fight off a case of the willies at the thought of just how many teeth those things have scraped. Blech.
As usual I had no cavities (take that, flossing supporters). Also was pretty sure I had no gums, either, but I was pleasantly surprised to find they hadn't been torn out - it only felt like they had. And for the record, the dental hygienist and dentist are both really nice ladies and seem to do a fine job. Much of this was written in jest but built around legitimate thoughts. Concerns. Terror. With a clean set of choppers I can sleep easy for the next five-and-a-half months, until November arrives and brings with it another round of dental anguish.
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