A Letter To My Dentist

To My Esteemed Oral Health Professional:

Do you honestly like your job? Does inflicting pain and suffering on all do it for you? Bad breath, plaque, gingivitis, overall decay...does it ever get you down? And what about the fact that most of the world just generally hates those in your profession?

Do you like your job? Love it? Look forward to going into the office daily? Honestly. I wonder if you rise in the morning thinking, oh, YES! I have 6 cavities to fill, 2 crowns and oh awesome days of all, a root canal. Do you ever get sad from the fact that people dread seeing you?

I want you to know I really hate having work done on my teeth. It makes my jaw sore and the sound of the drill just about sends me through the roof. The smells, the cold water you splash on my ultra hot/cold sensitive teeth, the sucking apparatus you shove in my mouth and then completely miss the snotty mass collecting near my throat. Yeah, these are the good times I love at your office.

Sadly enough, I am quite familiar with the shrill squeal of the drill, as I have a mouth full of silver. I swear, I am genetically predisposed to cavities and rotting teeth. My mother and father both have partial dentures. Seriously. And I think they got them when they were fairly young. Come to think of it, my grandparents all had partials too....with the exception of my dad's mom. (OH MY GOD...that is my destiny.)

You need to know that questioning me about my flossing behaviors while your hands are in my fully numb mouth with drill in your hand is ludicrous. Uh, like I can honestly answer with more than a grunt. It completely keeps me from being able to explain how I really am trying to do better and that I'm actually flossing once or twice a week. Heck, I even tried the Listerine in your bathroom. (and by the way....it's nasty stuff)

Ok, you should also know that I wanted to vomit and reply, "f*&k no" to your question of, "would you like to see some motivation for flossing better?" (referring to the hole you'd just drilled into my tooth). Sick...I'm still reeling from this question. Like. Totally. Gross.

Finally Mr. Oral Health Professional, you should know that unless you say I have to have a procedure completed, I'm never going to volunteer for it. No matter what. End of story. See you in February for my next teeth cleaning.

The Joys of Motherhood!

Motherhood has it's moments, doesn't it? Yesterday held just one more of those "special moments" for me. I know I mentioned that little Miss Shorty McShort had a dental appointment. Actually, we all had appointments to get our teeth cleaned. You know, a family that gets their teeth cleaned together, stays together. (tee hee hee) Anyhow. Speaking of cleaning teeth.

I was feeling a bit nervous due to the fact that Shorty herself was a total turd when we went last time in January. She was completely unwilling to let the lady look at her teeth. Yup, locked her lips shut tight. No chance. Fine I thought. Let your teeth rot you little turd. And we moved on with life and Mr. Tall and I proceeded to have our teeth picked at and poked at and scraped upon beautifully shined and cleaned.

I was worried that this appointment would replicate the last. She and I had a talk that went something like this:
me: so Shorty, you know our dentist visit is coming up
her: waaaaaaaaaaah, I don't like the dentist
me: yah, well, it's neither a good or bad thing, it's just something we do to take care of our teeth
her: whining of some sort, grumbles about how she hates the dentist

See why I was worried?!

So we arrive (on time, thankyouverymuch) and sit down to wait because the guy before us got there late (Mr. Tall). I wanted to read Time, but Shorty wanted me to read a book to her. Fine. No worries. Just keep her happy until she gets in the chair and opens her mouth.

Our turn. She hesitantly gets in the chair. The (very nice lady) shows her all of her tools. I pretend to be interested and ask to touch. (hoping this will spark some interest) The lady gives her a choice of flavors of fluoride (I think that is what they put all over your teeth) and then counts her teeth. (a warm up I think to get her fingers in her mouth. And you know what? She cooperated. Fully cooperated. I almost fell over! Here is proof.
So then it was my turn. Nothing exciting except for when Miss Short is finished and joins me in my room while I finish up. She says, "I have to potty". The dental hygienist asks me if she does and I'm like, "no". We just went when we got here. So Shorty paces the room a few times, stops, and then the hygienist says, "she doesn't have to go anymore". Initially I'm thinking, "huh?"

Yeah, Shorty peed all over her feet (and floor). Nice. Thank god we had her leotard from dance class. I cleaned up the floor, her feet and shoes the best I could. She changed clothes and I got my teeth finished. I thought, oh, they were pretty cool about this....until the dentist came in and knew what had happened and then the receptionist knew what had happened when we left. Ok, why didn't they just broadcast it? Anyhow. Such is life.

We're headed to dance class and then Shorty goes to my friend's house for the day. I have lots to accomplish too.