The Dentist

I read the other day that the top three things that cause stress in regular people like you and me are filling out tax forms, entertaining in their home, and going to the dentist.

I want to focus on this dentist thing, because nothing strikes fear into the hearts of most self-assured men and women than going to the dentist. A couple of days before the appointment our whole world falls apart. Personally, I experience loss of coordination, loss of appetite, and a feeling of inadequacy. I remember being told as a kid…an apple a day keeps the dentist away….why didn't I listen to my parents?

Then comes that fateful day. A day you will long remember - and your dentist will soon forget. If you're new at going to the dentist, the appointment is probably in the morning because you don't know any better. If you're an experienced dentist-goer like me, an appointment later in the day is always preferable, hoping that the dentist will get sick and have to go home early before you get there.

So I'm sitting in the waiting room with my teeth and gums aching from lack of quality floss time, reading some 6-month-old magazines, from which I invariably pick up new information. ("I didn't know he died"). While reading I realize one of the many reasons I don't like going to the dentist. The reception area usually smells like Biology class gone bad. Similar to burning tires.

And the sounds. The sounds will kill me if nothing else does. The noise a finely crafted, precision, high speed drill makes at 93,000 RPM is something I once thought was a bad joke, but the reality of the sound and the moment hits me hard. I suddenly realize after smelling the smell and hearing the sounds that - the dentist really IS in today, working on people.

No way out but to get sick right there in the lobby, but my focus quickly shifts to another noise. A noise similar to gurgling sound a person makes when they are being gagged. It's the sound of Mr. Suction doing his job. Thoughts of better days quickly cross my mind. Thoughts of pretty flowers. Of days when all the kids used to like me in school. When my parents would tell me what a great person I was. My first kiss, my first drive alone after getting my license. But my wandering thoughts are cut off with the words…."Bob, you can come in, now." Life passes quickly before my eyes.

I realize I don't have a will. I forgot to put out the garbage. The little strip of molding will never get put back on in the bedroom. I finally get to the chair. I sit down without looking around, careful not to get too nosey with the dentists tools he has lined up for me, and I certainly never ask -'what do you use that for?' or he may just use it on me.

Then comes the spot light, designed to not shine in my eyes but always does. Two head peek over me as I squirm to get comfortable on this, my last day on earth. A shopping trip sounds real good right now. Open wide. In comes Mr. Suction and a little round mirror and several dropforged diamond-tipped tools designed to do great enamel damage.

I strain to hear the banter over the whir of the drill. Words like -'no, that will never work', and 'oh,oh, we've got trouble here', or the worst thing a person could possibly hear once he's in the chair. The dentist says, "Suzie, would you call Mr. Smith and see if he can delay coming in. This is going to take longer than I thought."

I think of the original 45-minute appointment I made. After all, how much could I get hurt in 45 minutes? But the old extension clause just threw me for a loop. The sound of Mr. Drill pierces the air, and the dentist says, as he's carving Mt. Rushmore out of my number 4 molar, "well Bob, how are things going?" I reply -ssdfoisuoiwerposfdjfslff -which is the gagging language for - "oh fine, just fine thanks."