Unlike others, a trip to the dentist's office when I was a kid didn't cause a great deal of…read moretrepidation, or panic, or fear. My parents made sure I went regularly, but my teeth were always in pretty good shape, even if my attention to their care was less than diligent. I didn't get a cavity until I was well into middle age. I didn't like going to the dentist, but it didn't fill me with horror, like it did some of my peers.
As I've gotten older, though, these trips to the dentist, or dental surgeons, became more problematic. My teeth became more sensitive (I've had to switch from regular toothpaste to Sensodyne...the toothpaste for old codgers with enamel deprived teeth). About 10 years ago, I had to go to a dental surgeon to have impacted wisdom teeth removed. I was put to "sleep," but awoke to the dental surgeon wrenching away at the impacted tooth like a miner digging for a vein of impacted gold ore. Still, once the ordeal was over, it was over, and I got a script for Vicodin out of it so...all's well that ends well!
As far as "regular" dentist visits, my last one was several years ago.
During that "several years ago" visit, there was acute pain. There were several points during that ordeal where I almost came up involuntarily out of my chair because of it (I couldn't help but envision the scene from "Marathon Man" where Laurence Olivier leans over Dustin Hoffman, writhing in agony in the dentist's chair, his sharp dental pick poised above Dustin's abused gums, asking with sinister calm, "Is it safe?").
I'm not an idiot about dental care. I brush regularly, floss semi-regularly, and have hoped my genetic inheritance of "good teeth" will last until they bury (or burn) me with them. Still, the daily "several cups of coffee" and the chronic "sweet tooth" have left their indelible mark, and I recognized that at some point I was going to have to "man up" and make that appointment. My hand was forced when a few weeks ago I broke off a piece of tooth biting down on a plastic fork (don't ask...). It didn't hurt, but procrastination was no longer a viable option.
I made the appointment.
Same office, different personnel at the front desk. Which was a good thing; the last time I was here, the receptionist was a bit of a jerk. The people working there now are efficient, friendly. I filled out the necessary paperwork, although there was some question about how much my insurance would cover. I started bracing myself for a harder time to come than I had hoped for.
The dental hygienist took me to the room where they were going to clean my teeth.
A lady entered the room as they were strapping me down (just kidding), indicating there was some confusion as to whether I was "covered" for the fixing of my chipped tooth, and I could feel myself tensing up even more (not kidding). She mentioned a "silver" cap instead of a "white" one as a possibility. I'm not vain, but the silver front tooth look is not for me, and I figured I'd live with the chipped tooth if I had to, even if it made me look more like an inbred hillbilly than the sophisticated suburbanite I sometimes like to pretend I am.
I mentioned (as I had when I made the appointment) the tough time I had had my last visit, and asked for a shot of novocaine, or "happy gas," or Percocet, or heroin, or...whatever. The hygienist told me they could put some "topical gel" on my gums, but...well...it had been several years, and the reality was there might be some discomfort in the attempt to restore my choppers to their pristine beauty.
She applied the gel, and told me to raise my left hand if things got too intense. They didn't. I could feel the pressure as she scraped at my teeth and dug around in my gums, with momentary spots of some pain, but nothing like what I went through previously. And there wasn't too much blood when I had to swish water around in my mouth and spit out into that ceramic "spitoon" they keep by the side of the chair. She wanted to sign me up for another visit in 6 months, but I declined. Six months seems a very short time.
Dr. Kuitems, pleasant and professional, examined the work, declared it sound, and then...after some minutes had passed...put the cap (white, not silver) onto my chipped tooth. Took about 5 minutes. I guess whatever questions there were about my insurance coverage had been resolved.
So, all in all, it worked out very well-- my teeth are clean and capped, my pain was minimal, and my co-pay didn't break the bank.
(Later, my oldest friend, who IS diligent about his dental health, called me to see how it had gone. When I mentioned my reluctance to commit myself to another appointment in 6 months, he replied, "Do you realize that your dental health can be connected to heart attacks if you let it go? Also, it's hard to eat if you have no teeth. What's the big deal about making an appointment for 6 months from now? Do you think it's like going for a manicure?" I laughed, but he might be right.)
