post-dentist

I feel like I've been chewing a mouthful of staples, but no, I've just been to the dentist where the hygienist Debbie jabbed at my gums for an hour. The practice is convinced that everyone is on their way to periodontitis -- and maybe we are, though it's strange to think that God gave us teeth that involve a masked person squirting microbe anti-bacterial stuff through a syringe into their roots to maintain...

It turns out I really do suffer from sitcom-scenario dental anxiety. When I walk into the office, I feel the same tense defensiveness that I feel when I take my car in -- that helpless this-guy-is-trying-to-work-one-over-and-make-an-extra-buck feeling. Today I even argued with the woman at the desk and threatened to walk out after only hearing what the "cleaning" involved. (poor woman -- sorry). And to top it off, there is the reality that 9 out of 10 visits end with the words, "so you'll have to come back in to get that worked on" backed by the sound of drills spinning in every other exam room. Ugh.

The good news is that today, my mouth was sparklingly cavity-free! And to top it off, the dentist said, "keep doing whatever you're doing -- it's working!" What that really means, though, is flossing once a month and canceling dentist appointments out of apprehension for a year. Perfect!