Some mothers teach their children to floss and rinse. Mine indoctrinated the idea that no one could possibly dream of becoming a dentist were it not for the promise of financial stability. My father taught me many things, but oral hygiene wasn't one of them. Years of grinding (no doubt caused by the sight of my parents' teeth) left me dentally disabled -- a fit and healthy woman in her 20s/30s trapped in the mouth of an uninsured pensioner.
So, who would have thought that such a delightful duo of dentists would open their hearts and their homely practice to my plaque-filled mouth? Earl Whetstone -- the dental father that only Disney characters could dream of -- and his side-kick Nidhi Rajput -- the dental sister my parents denied me when my mother gave birth to a boy (my brother)-- couldn't be more caring and sage.
At first I rebelled, as any adopted child does, to this confusing world of comfort and love. No, I don't want a deep tissue massage in this luxuriously soft chocolate leather recliner while you fill those five cavities of mine in this chestnut wood paneled interior. What's wrong with the harsh fluorescent lights of yore? Who needs to see the GoPro before and after shots of their canines on a high resolution personal TV screen? What happened to the good ol' days of confusing explanations using blurry x-rays and outdated(!) skeletons in the white confines of the sterile four walls where root canals are committed?
But, it only takes a few gum inspections before you succumb to that honeylicious charm of Alison at the front desk, and find yourself dreaming of her offer to schedule a second date. Before you can say "hell no, not on my credit card" to dental realignment, you begin to look forward to the dental nurse's "there there" on your arm every time you feel the prick of an injection. You wouldn't admit it on a Friday night, but you love the terrible dad jokes of Father Earl and the delightful banter with Sister Nidhi about your stand-up comedy routine worthy horrors you've experienced online dating in the Valley. Soon you come to learn that your new dental family's love for you is unconditional (and comes at a 20% discount for Stanford students).
When he broke the news that in the future I might need braces, Father Earl didn't judge me for the tear in my eye, but rather duly noted my fear of the insertion of metal objects in my mouth prior to locking down a potential husband, and discussed at length the pros and cons of dental health, aesthetically pleasing jawlines, and finding the data scientist of my dreams. And once the marital candidate was in tow, and the decision to pop (the more modern option of) clear plastic sheets between my teeth had been made, this orthopedic relative of mine invested many an hour into discussing Invisalign treatment options with me. All this effort, despite the fact that the only eligible bachelor who could accept my damaged teeth for who they really are, will lead me to a land beyond the leafy streets of Palo Alto, where the financial benefits of Invisalign will not, in fact, be reaped by Dr. Earl.
You see, the hard thing about adulthood is realizing that your parents are not always right. Sorry mum, but you're wrong. Not all dentists are the Wolfs of Cavity Street that you mistake them to be. For some, the simple knowledge that they're doing their bit to fight the War Against Plaque, is what gets them out of bed in the morning. And to my dad, I say: As a young girl you warned me not to drink the water out of the glass that housed your false teeth at night. Perhaps you could have also passed the floss.
Like a trip to Disney World, an hour or two at 744 Middlefield Road is all you need to believe that dental dreams really can come true. But, unlike a trip to Disney World, these Palo Alto magicians will do wonders for your teeth.
And before you criticize my dentically genetically unfortunate parents for their poor dental parenting, let me be clear: they were smarter than any parents south of The Farm could be. For were it not for their deep love and appreciation of abstract algebra that they shared with my brother and I over the dinner table, I would never have made it to Stanford, and never had the opportunity to meet Dr. Whetstone. Mum, Dad: Your route to helping me find my real dental family may not have been conventional, but it was nothing short of masterfully brilliant. read more
