Two-Thirty

I’m not afraid of dentists. Really I'm not. And I hope I’m leading by example for my kids.

Since dental health was hard to come by in my mother’s formative years, she went to great pains to ensure her children had an exam each year without tears. It’s paid off too, and I’m happy to admit that even at my advanced age (nudging 40 doncha know) I still have all my own teeth in good working order, albeit with one or two fillings.

My Beloved, on the other hand, comes from a long line of odontophobes and only comes along for the ride in his duty as a dad.

So it was with varying degrees of delight and despair we all headed off for our annual check-up.

The kids enjoyed their ride in the dentist’s chair, and came home with congratulations for their efforts and a new toothbrush apiece. My Beloved fared a little worse, and had an extraction (which broke halfway out, much to his disgust) and left the surgery with a list of follow-up appointments. Needless to say, he was not a happy man.

Then it was my turn.

Now, since my most vivid memories of the family dentist (let’s call him Dr X) were that the man had the hairiest and scariest nostrils in the known universe, I always ensure I keep my eyes closed while ever one is leaning over me (even if they are wearing the requisite facemask). I also try to give my own nose a good going-over with a tissue before going in, just in case.

Anyway… there I was, enduring the examination, trying to hold up my end of the conversation with the dentist’s fingers between my teeth, when the hygienist manages to get the suction well and truly stuck to the inside of my cheek and added to the number of digits in my mouth in a bid to dislodge it (those little suckers hurt coming off too)! Then after a few more scrapes of the benignly titled but evil little ‘dental explorer’ (making my aforementioned fillings sing in the process), I was subjected to the air/water syringe and somehow swallowed enough of the stuff to give me the uncomfortable and embarrassing sensation of having to burp. Yep, all gassed up and nowhere to blow.

Fortunately, anyone who knows me also knows what a pathetic belcher I am - no burping out the alphabet for me (here’s how to do so, if you want to hone that skill yourself)- so I thought this would be the one time my gassy little gurgle could pass by unnoticed.

But since the ears of anyone working in the field of dentistry are well trained to decipher even the smallest sounds in the course of communication when all but incommunicado, even my teensy weensy “erp!” did not escape attention, and the resulting smile on the dentist’s dial gave me a great display of his pearly whites (someone obviously gets dental care for free, so straight and shining were they).

So it was with great relief that I was finally given a clean bill of dental health and set free from the surgery to go about my cavity-causing business for another 6 to12 months.

Imagine my dismay as I looked in the car rear-view mirror to see how bright and white my teeth were for the time being, only to discover that I had not been quite as diligent in examining my own nasal cavities as perhaps I could have been (cue the horror music). It was flashback to Dr X all over again.

*sigh*

I can only console myself that this particular dental practice is a prime training ground for the newly-graduated, and the chances of me seeing the same bloke next time were as small as the gaps between my molars.

Likewise, I hope that anyone looking my way as I drove out of the car park might mistake my grimace for a grin, lest I trigger any bouts of odontophobia for the next on the waiting list.

Jx
©2009