dr. tooth

my parent's coverage ended when i turned 23. i guess the insurance company assumed i should be done with school, grown up, and have a policy of my own. [seriously. who finishes school by 23?] three months i waited until my insurance kicked in. an additional three months, were added due to laziness and dread. but today, i gave into my responsible urges. after a year and a half of delay, i went to the dentist.

i must admit, i have a pretty high pain tolerance. i would also say it takes a lot to bother me. but i must state for the record, i hate going to the dentist. i called this morning to schedule an appointment for february...
"can you make it in at 11? [ie. 45 min from now] we had another appointment cancel."
....uh....
no time to prepare myself mentally.
how do i get the wheat thins out from between my teeth?
no extra i'm-going-to-the-dentist brushing.
i should have flossed at least once since my last appointment.

oh, the smell as i first step into the office makes me want to a'bout face and walk back out to my car. i cringe at the drill i hear in the background as i flip through october's edition of people. perhaps they should make the rooms sound proof so as not to disturb small children. the hygienist calls my name, i follow her down the sterile corridor to the dreaded chair. she tries to make small talk with me, but it doesn't distract my mind from the discomfort i am about to experience. she places the sunglasses on my eyes. why must i wear the sunglasses? i am 24 years old. i don't need the glasses anymore! i look up at the ceiling decorated with inspirational posters..."a day is not wasted if a memory is made"..."excellence is not a skill. it is an attitude." i'm going to need a lot more than pictures of puppies and beaches to distract my mind from my mouth.

here's the thing i never get. i'm wearing a bib lying flat on my back, a bright light shining in my face, my mouth widely contorted to an unnatural position, and hygienist asks me "so, are you enjoying your job?" i try to be polite and answer the most coherently way that i can, but of course she can't understand me. she takes her hands and sharp shinny objects out of my mouth so i can answer my questions. i just want to tell her, "let's just keep this short and sweet. get in, get out, so i can go." it's probably good i don't have the courage for she is holding extremely pointy tools against my gums. she continues to scrape away and the horrible sounds resonates through my nasal cavity and into my ears. oh, even the thought of that noise sends shivers up my spine.

i get the inevitable you-need-to-floss-everyday speech and i nod in agreement as if i've never heard these instructions before and will obey her every word. she asks me if i'm available for an appointment 20 july...yikes! i don't even know what i'm doing the 20 january much less in six months. she gives me a toothbrush, because i guess they think the agony of the visit is lessened with a new toothbrush in hand. i slide my tongue across my newly polished, still cavity-free teeth reminding myself this really is good for my pearly whites. i exit with both a feeling of relief from another visit over and dread at the thought of returning in six months. maybe i'll leave the country.