Pearly Whites

Disclaimer: This post is from the archives, and may not represent the current views of the author. It also may not be at all interesting to read. Continue at your own peril!

Dentists suck. They derive pleasure from picking at other people’s gums and using obscure terms that no one understands but other dentists. I think dentists should be required to marry other dentists so that they don’t have the chance to bore their spouse, and hopefully the happy couples will go on vacations together and get lost or stranded.

If you couldn’t guess by now, I had a dentist appointment today. I’ve never really enjoyed going to the dentist’s office, but when I was little I didn’t mind it. Now I do. Every time I go in there, a few things are mentioned without fail. One of them happens as soon as they look at my teeth. They see the one on the bottom and ask, “Is that a baby tooth?” My first inclination is to say, “Well, I don’t know. You’re the dentist; why don’t you tell me?” It’s stupid, because every time I go in there, they ask that, even though it’s in my dental records – which they always look at afterward. My two front teeth on the bottom never developed permanent teeth underneath them. One of them fell out, but the other one has stood strong under pressure and decided to stay there. It now becomes a point of conversation for the dentists. When the head honcho dentist came into the room today to check over my teeth, they started talking about it. They were talking about eyeteeth and 2-10s or something. Then the lady that was doing the cleaning and stuff started talking about some cousin or something that had the same sort of problem. They started talking about implants (teeth implants of course, not breast implants – I’d be a little uncomfortable if they started talking about my breasts) and what the age is that it’s okay to have them put in, etc. I was just laying there looking up at them and wondering when it was going to end. There’s nothing worse than being put in a room with two doctors and being force to listen to their jibber-jabber technical speak.

So anyways, before that conversation happened, this previously mentioned lady had been picking at my teeth with those little metal toothpick instruments – which also double up as torture intruments if needed – and mentioning about how I had a lot of tartar around that previously mentioned baby tooth. With my mouth open, I tried to explain that it was hard to get at the back of the tooth, but I’m not even sure if she understood what I said because she continued picking at the tooth as she was asking the question. During the entire appointment, I was lying in the chair almost parallel to the floor. Most times when I go in there, when the dentist isn’t doing anything with my teeth (like when they’re looking at the dental records or something), they put the chair back up into a sitting position. This person didn’t. The blood was basically rushing to my head. She didn’t even turn the light off either, although she was decent enough to move it so it wasn’t shining in my eyes.

After a few minutes of poking my gums with her death stick, she told me I had nice teeth. I’ve never had anyone say that about my teeth before. That’s probably because they’d be lying if they said that. Although I’ve tried hard to make my teeth as good as I can, I’ve got staining on my front two teeth that I can’t get rid of – I didn’t put it there in the first place either – and my teeth are crooked, etc. The dentists keep mentioning braces, but nothing ever comes from that. They keep saying that they need to wait until the baby tooth falls out, but that could be years. They’ve also talked about pulling that tooth, but from what it sounded like today, they wanted to leave it in there if possible and only put an implant in if the tooth fell out on its own. So basically, I can’t get the implant or the braces until that stupid tooth comes out one way or another. I might just pull it out myself and save them the trouble and my parents the money.

So of course, the dentist had to make me feel all guilty again by saying that I needed to brush my teeth more. I admit that I definitely do, but it seems like no matter how many times a day I brushed them, they’d still say I should brush them more. Well, what do they want me to do, put them out of a job? I’ve got their best interests at heart, of course. You’d think they’d at least be considerate enough to appreciate that.

All in all, the dentist appointment wasn’t actually that bad. I’m still cavity-free, and although my gums hurt now and my mouth still has a faint taste of a mixture of blood and toothpaste, the fact that I only have to put up with it once every six months or so makes it bearable. Perhaps if I brushed my teeth more faithfully, I could reduce the pain that occurred each visit, but somehow I think they’d find a way to make it painful anyways. They might just have to resort to jabbing my eyes with those little metal toothpicks.

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