A View From Robin's Nest
Dental Trauma
Open (your checkbook) wide.
A Day at the Dentist
Robin Hoselton
My legs nearly buckled from shock. The cost of the dental work totaled $200.00 more than my monthly Social Security.
The receptionist asked if I wanted the crown procedure begun immediately. With my checkbook whimpering in agony, I hesitated. The tooth didn’t hurt when it broke on the popcorn kernel and it didn’t hurt now. Maybe I could chew on the other side for a year or two until I saved enough ransom to spare my bank account’s life.
Grasping for an excuse, I wondered if the dogs might destroy the house if I left them alone another hour. And could my bladder hold that last cup of coffee?
I decided to get the ordeal over with so the assistant led me to a room and asked me to update my records. A question asked: ‘Next of Kin?’ Were they kidding? Nobody mentioned dying in the dental chair. How embarrassing if that happened—I hadn’t made my bed!
I put my daughter’s name but omitted her address. My memory lapsed and I’d left my Rolodex at home. Phone? I hadn’t memorized my new cellular number yet. I signed the form but paused at the date. I hadn’t the foggiest idea. I’m retired; what do I care what date it is?
Where’s the Bathroom?
The dentist entered to inject some numbing substance, then left. While I waited, I appraised my surroundings. Overhead a computer monitor displayed a beach scene—sparkling sand, waving palm trees, blue sky, turquoise ocean—obviously designed to soothe and relax. However, concentrating on all that water made me yearn for the bathroom.
To distract myself, I looked at the vase of flowers in the corner. A clear vase with WATER. I crossed my legs. I turned my gaze to the counter. Bottles of LIQUID antiseptic and mouthwash. I clinched my legs tighter.
The dentist returned and asked if my tongue and lip were numb. I answered, “No, only my cheek.” She gave me another injection and left the room again. I kept poking my lips and tongue but they didn’t feel different. Perhaps it’s a matter of perception, I thought. What some people consider pain, I consider uncomfortable. Like childbirth. What some consider scary, I consider fun. Like bungee jumping. I’ll say “Yes” when she asks again or else I’ll be sitting here all day.
Too Young?
So I fibbed the next time and just a numb cheek sufficed. While the dentist performed her voodoo inside my gauze-wadded mouth, she conversed with the assistant and I unwillingly eavesdropped. In commenting on someone’s boyfriend, the dentist remarked, “The only thing wrong with him is that he’s young.”
I don’t know why, but the notion that my YOUNG dentist considered age 27 as young struck me as hilarious. Maybe that double injection numbed my sense of decorum. I struggled not to giggle for fear of wetting my pants.
Later as the dentist gave me instructions about my temporary crown, she added these hurtful words, “Don’t eat anything sweet and sticky like fudge brownies.”
I knew I should have just super-glued that broken molar!