Open Wide and say OMMMMMM

I despise going to the dentist. It is one of the few trials in life that gets my palms sweaty and heart beating uncontrollably. I know. I know. This is no big revelation. However, my current dentist has subjected me to mental torturers’ I cannot abide, and I feel that I must get it off my chest.

My abhorrence of the dental chair has led me to some bad choices. I have allowed long gaps between appointments, and that has only resulted in additional anguish. All of these gaps occurred when, for one reason or another, I didn’t have a regular dentist, and was loathe to sign up again to open wide. 

My first gap occurred when I moved to Philadelphia. It took me a number of years before I sucked it up and got back in the big chair. The dentist I found was also a professor at Penn Dental School. He took one look at me and said, son, you need the Cavitron. 

For those of you who have never been introduced to the Cavitron, consider yourself lucky. It is a primitive implement of torment designed to blast plaque away. Was the name Cavitron meant to be ironic, or maybe kid us into thinking that this will be fun? Either way, I curse the mad scientist who invented the Cavitron and the 6^th grader who named it.   

After multiple sessions with the Cavitron, the prof dentist pronounced himself satisfied. He then told me that he regretted not taking me to his students before the whole ordeal started, so they could get a clear before and after picture. You know, like the people in the diet commercials. Thanks a lot, doc!! 

This dentist stopped practicing to go into teaching full time, and I was once again set adrift. Years passed before I got up the courage and subjected myself to that sickening smell of formaldehyde and old socks that permeate every dentist’s office. The sentence for my neglect was, once again, the Cavitron. Let’s just say that it was not a touching reunion.  

I went to that dentist for many years until they made the fatal mistake of letting me walk out of their office without scheduling my next appointment. Seems like a little thing, but another multi-year gap ensued. Eventually, I bowed to the inevitable and, about six months ago, gave in to my destiny (kind of like Luke Skywalker). It meant, you guessed it, the Cavitron. 

I must have voiced my dismay at being subjected to the Cavitron, because at my next appointment, after multiple Cavitron sessions, the dental assistant started by saying, “I see by your chart that you don’t like the Cavitron”. I laughed so hard at the thought that this was now part of my permanent record, she must have considered calling security. Once I got control, I told her that what they really need to document is anyone who says they like the Cavitron. Those were the ones to look out for. I don’t think she was amused. 

Still, the Cavitron is not the sole torture I endured. As you all are aware, the décor in a dentist’s office is generally as sterile as the piped in muzak. My last dentist had a cartoonish picture with Philadelphia landmarks all crammed in, as if the city was only a square mile wide, but at least it was something to look at. (There’s the Acadamy of Music. What’s it doing next to Veterans Stadium?). 

My current dentist, however, has decided that the most appropriate item for patients to gaze upon while she does her dirty work is a motivational poster (pictured below). There must have been a sale on this eyesore because it adorns a number of the cells in her office. Maybe buy one, get two free, is the only way they could get rid of this visual carbuncle. 

There is, of course, nothing wrong with these cliched words of advice, but it strikes me that the dentist’s office is the last place where they should be imparted. “Believe in Magic”? If I believed in magic, I would be trying to conjure clean teeth and healthy gums rather than be sitting in the chair with cotton balls stuffed in my cheeks. “Do What you Love”? Well, that leaves this out. “Don’t Count the Minutes Count the Laughs”? No. When I am there, I am counting the minutes until I am done, hence my constant whine, “Aren’t you done drilling yet?”.  

But the worst bon mot of all is the last, “Make Every Moment Count”. Putting aside the impossibility of this questionable afflatus, a dentist is the last person who should be pushing this as a way of life. I know how important dental health is, but if I am going to make every moment count, the last place I am going to start is at the dentist’s office. In fact, seeing this makes me want to get up and start making a moment count far away from there, hardly the reaction she was hoping for, I’m sure. 

Anyway, thank you for indulging me in the somewhat Seinfeldian rant. It’s just that what I want out of my dentist is efficiency, and a certain concern for my low threshold of pain. I know that it is childish and immature, but I can’t help it. After all, I’m just following my dentist’s advice to “Be True to Who you Are”.