Wednesday, July 8, 2009
The dental chair.... Friend or foe? For me a hated enemy, that twice a year I would hold back tears or clench my hands repeatedly awaiting the verdict of cavity or no cavity. I have always declared that I would rather go to a GYN visit than the dentist. A friend of mine was sharing her latest adventures from going to the dentist. She had switched to a new dentist since moving out of state and the initial exam took two hours. She had birthed a kid faster than that and cried less tears, and so she now understands my longstanding angst with the world of dentistry.
Probably around ten years old is my earliest bad dental memory. I am polish so you go to the local polish dentist. He was like 70 at the time and had an accent. I don't remember Novocaine being offered because that was extra. During the dreaded drilling process he kept trying to talk to me and kept calling me Di. "How's it going Di? Almost done Di." That annoyed me. Finally, at one point he stopped and looked down at me. I had slid down in the chair so far trying to escape him that he had to stop to get me repositioned. "Hey Di, what's the matter?" Um hello. I am in pain! He offers Novocaine. I accept, even though he insists we are almost done. Not a great memory. My mother tries to find a new dentist after that or he retires. Don't remember which is accurate. My current dentist is sickeningly sweet. She also calls me Di but is so nice that I overlook it. I still spit gobs of blood into the little sink and it takes her forever to scrape, scrape, scrape my teeth! Thankfully, my children have only had the sweet smiley one so they have no preconceived fears. They are thankful for the free toothbrush, flossers and other prizes.