Me versus the Dentist

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say I'm a member of a rather large group of people who cannot stand going to the dentist even for a routine cleaning. I am also part of a smaller subgroup that never has a routine cleaning wind up being just a routine cleaning. Invariably, when the dentist sees my name in the ledger for an appointment, he starts mentally calculating what new expensive item he can purchase using funds from taking care of my mouth. I can almost hear a maniacal "Bwahaha!" when I enter the waiting room. Almost.

Seriously, I like my dentist. I started going to him a couple of years ago when the dentist I had been seeing spent three weeks telling me the severe mouth and jaw pain I had was not from her botching a filling, but from me just needing to give my mouth time to adjust to said filling. I sought out a second opinion when I was popping two Advil every four hours around the clock and was still in excruciating pain. Yeah, that "adjusting" I needed to do? Turns out, that dentist had botched the filling, left an exposed nerve, and I needed an emergency root canal. I left my old dentist's office and never went back.

My new dentist is much nicer. He listens to me, takes his time with procedures (as opposed to drilling into a tooth without the numbing meds being injected properly, and therefore not numbing, which was the standard for the old dentist), and has even been known to shove a mirror in my hand to show me what specifically he finds problematic about a given tooth. He also keeps his appointment times fairly accurate, and I rarely have to wait more than ten minutes to be seen. That's always a plus with me.

I suspect my dentist likes me, too. The old dentist botched up pretty much everything she did with my mouth over the few years I went to her, and my new dentist has had the dubious honor of redoing all of her work. (Hear that cash register ringing? That's the reason he likes me.) So every time I go in for a routine cleaning, he has to see what new problem has come to light over the past few months. So far, he's had to replace three fillings, install two crowns after root canals that he referred to the appropriate specialist, and tried to help my gums heal after the old dentist had gouged a chunk out of them while trying to fill a tooth. Fun times. I'm fairly certain his vacation home must have my name on a plaque in it somewhere.

Today's cleaning was mildly entertaining from my standpoint. I like scheduling appointments for Saturdays because the dental hygienist that I like only works Saturdays. Having to wake up early on a weekend is a small price to pay for someone who does not make me feel like she is taking a pick-ax to my gums. By now, the hygienist knows me, knows that I have kidlets, and we chat about various kidlet-related issues while she is setting up the room for my appointment. She asked me today if I wanted to spring for the extra cash to have the more thorough oral cancer screening, complete with weird blue light. I agreed immediately, which threw her for a loop because she was used to have to go through a whole spiel to try and convince people. I just laughed and told her I'm used to hearing the same spiel about cervical cancer screenings from my OB-GYN, who uses a similar blue light testing thingy. (I probably should drop the "OB" part from that one, given that I hope to never use him for those services again, but by now it's a force of habit.) The hygienist jumped from that topic of cancer to mentioning she got her teenage daughter the HPV vaccine just this year.

Now anyone who has ever discussed that subject with me knows that I am against that vaccine. There have been too many unexplained deaths to girls after receiving it. There is NO WAY that I would be willing to inject that potentially lethal concoction into my daughters. However, I was not about to say this to a woman wielding a sharp metal object and hovering over my inclined head. Thankfully, mumbling was about all I was capable of doing at that point, so I'm presuming she thought I was agreeing with her. (The score was now Dentist: 1, Me: 0.)

After my cleaning, I was moved into the dentist's exam room. He listened patiently to me when I said I was having pressure sensitivity to one (or both) of two teeth. He explained that he'd take a look, but that if it is a fracture, like it sounded like to him, he wanted me to get it taken care of right away. I asked him if he ever got that tooth implant he had mentioned needing months ago. He laughed, said no, and basically told me to do as he said, not as he did. (Dentist: 1, Me: 1. Take that, sir!)

Sure enough, one of the two teeth in question, one with a rather large filling in it, is most likely fractured. He threw a mirror in my hands, stuck one of those sharp metal tools in my mouth, and pointed out where he could see evidence of a line under the visible surface of the tooth. Stupid tooth needs a crown, at bare minimum. At least he is willing to wait until January resets my already-maxed-out limit from my dental insurance. The bad news is that I will be re-hitting that limit before the new year is even remotely old news. (Dentist: 2, Me: 1. Dang it. I call for a re-match!)

I should be granted a time-share in his vacation house for this.