It’s been over six months since my last dental appointment. Time for a clean, even if I have to pay for it myself.
The reason for this is Homeland Security is still checking to see I’m not a member of the Al Qaeda middle class white atheist division and are backchecking my credentials before I get a Social Security number. Without that my dental insurance doesn’t kick in.
Nevertheless two pints of tea a day were leaving me with tooth strains that in
I hate going to the dentist. It’s like vaccinations or giving blood, essential but highly unpleasant. A British dentist, who I believe eventually was struck off, took out all my milk molars in one operation and I still have occasional nightmares about a sweet smelling rubber mask coming down on my face and waking up spitting blood and having to learn to chew with my incisors.
Add into that Larry Olivier’s performance in Marathon Man and if they’d asked me “Is it safe?” I’d have been out there so fast you’d have seen the red shift.
Since then prudence has demanded I learn to live with dentists and I’ve had some great ones. An Aussie who was cheerfully grim (“Chew ice with that lower molar and I’ll see you back here in tears”) and a mad Brazilian who promised such a good clean my girlfriend would kiss her fingers.
But they pale into comparison with the practice that did me today. Not only was the lass who did the hard work an absolute gem with great taste in classical music* but it turns out the head dentist was an ex public school boy (Stowe – damn good rugby team) and understood the limits of British dentistry.
So now I have a lovely clean set of teeth and I had an appointment that didn’t leave me putting fingernail marks in the armrests. A full review is here and I’ll be back once it’s determined I’m not a threat to national security.
*Bach’s methodical and predictable music is perfect for controlling panic.
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