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I have a confession to make. Sorry, Mum...
Yesterday was a bit of an event as these things go. For it was the first time in the last thirteen years (minimum) that I've been to the dentists for a checkup. I know, I know... I was busy... yes.
I have to admit that over the course of the last few years, I've become increasingly worried about the state of my teeth, and the poor condition they must inevitably be in. Something had to be done. I was facing a cavity catastrophe: I'd need caps, fillings, crowns, extractions, dentures, braces and -- worst of all -- I might have to swill with that horrible pink water stuff they keep lukewarm just to make it even viler than it already is.
The receptionist did her best to put me ill at ease by pretending she couldn't find my name on the appointment list. Literally moments before I started to collapse into the foetal position and start moaning, she found it and gave me a sheet of paper to fill in with regard to my mentalphysical health. This might have distracted me enough such that I didn't Make A Scene, but it presented a problem or two of its own.
For one, it meant I needed to know who my doctor was.
Oh dear. Now, the state of my health-registration is (was) very much like my dental registration in that I've not really made much progress in that area since leaving home to go to university. I don't know why I do it -- fear of forms maybe, some specialised variant of papyrophobia -- but the only thing I do know is that "my" doctor retired years ago. Which isn't terribly useful, as these things go.
I guess I've been lucky enough with my health that, aside from the odd sniffle, headache or bowel malfunction (that have magically cleared up of their own accord), it's never been a particular priority for me.
Fortunately though, I was able to tick all the 'No' boxes ('Are you falling to bits?', 'Does pus ooze and/or drip from the open sores of your disease-ridden body?') which was apparently satisfactory enough for the simple gob-inspection I was booked in for. I was good to go.
I hopped onto the chair (well, not literally, but you know what I mean), and within seconds -- was zapped by x-rays SO POWERFUL, everyone else had to leave the room (I will report back if I acquire any super-powers in due course, but I've not noticed anything yet, other than a slightly increased verbosity). My teeth were then counted several times, and examined and prodded, before the dentist and his assistant retired to discuss the outcome of my tooth-audit in the corner of the room.
I sat nervously. And this wasn't just because of the curry I'd eaten the night before.
I don't know why I worry so much about my trips to the dentist. It's completely irrational, I know it's irrational, and I really don't know why the very idea makes me break into a cold sweat. Especially considering I've never actually had anything much done to my teeth (I have no fillings, have never experienced toothache) and I don't even think I've been exposed to anything more traumatic than the typical reading material available in the waiting room. But every time, I convince myself I have numerous cavities, my teeth are rotting away under my gums, something disastrous is happening in my mouth. Yes, I am stupid AND paranoid.
So when I was told that everything was fine, my teeth were actually in great condition and would I like to come back to get them polished, I agreed. I guess it was the relief, the feeling I'd dodged yet another bullet. But I've learned my lesson, and will be arranging far more-frequent check ups in the future. After all, I could hardly do worse could I?
And there's no way I want the first line of that damned Pam Ayres poem looping around in my head as if repeated by an autistic parrot on mogadon. Not again. Not me.
I'm not going to wish. I'm going to do.
hating dentists is fine, the worst part of my car accident as far as i was concerned had nothing to do with being cut from the remains of my car, it was the realisation that as i'd chewed on the steering wheel and left a tooth behind i would have to visit the dentist.... of course my anti-dentist feelings weren't helped when i got knocked off my bike on my way back from the dentist a few years ago (maybe it was a sign that i should go more often - but by public transport)
I used to love having extensive dental work when we were at Enron. I fell asleep when they did my root canal. Went back to work. Left work when the painkillers wore off.
My dentist had all kinds of gizmos, including a monitor where they could shove a camera in your mouth and show you what they were seeing. They also had a CCD xray machine and the pictures came up straight away on the monitor next to you, while the dentist sucked his teeth and told me my teeth sucked.