I had a dentist appointment this morning. I hate going to the dentist. He’s very friendly, all his staff are lovely, and I have pretty good teeth. Why, then, should I loathe these visits so much?
The cleanings drive me nuts.
Some people shiver at the sound of a dentist’s drill. I shiver (and cringe and tense up) at the sound of the hygienist scraping the plaque off my teeth. By the time she’s finished, my hands are tired and sore, my shoulders are wrecked, and I have a raging headache.
And that’s with my normal (read: preferred) hygienist.
The one I had today was not her. I’d had to reschedule my semi-annual cleaning back in November, and today was the first day they could get me in. My appointments are usually afternoon ones, but not today – I’m hoping that accounts for the change in personnel. This gal was nice enough, but I think I’ll stick with my normal gal.
She settled down with her scraper tool and got to work on my teeth. For the most part, it was okay, but the sound always drives me crazy. Five minutes in and I was stiff as a board. She scraped my gums a few times, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle, or so I thought. Ten minutes later, my jaw was fatigued and my head was beginning to pound.
I started praying she was almost done. She wasn’t.
Next up was the probey thing, where they poke at your gums to check for gaps. Ow. Ow ow ow. Ow. That hurt quite a bit. By this point, my fingers were screaming with my head, such a tight grip had I on the arms of my exam chair. And then she started with the floss…
I swear she was trying to saw through my gums, all the while complimenting me on the condition of my teeth: “You have such great teeth! And they’re hardly bleeding at all!”
I found that last bit hard to believe.
She finally finished with the floss and moved on to the polishing. Normally I enjoy having my teeth polished at the dentist office, but this morning it felt like she was trying to grind the paste into my teeth. I was tempted to ask for some more floss when she finished because I could feel grit between my teeth for a good half hour afterward, but I didn’t want her to do the flossing for me, so I kept my mouth shut. Well, I didn’t say anything, anyway.
At last the dentist came in, checked my teeth over, asked about the family, criticized my pop consumption (I know I drink too much – that’s old news – but I’m just not a coffee person), and moved on to the next patient. I was free!
Do you like going to the dentist? Or does the idea of a cleaning make you think of Steve Martin in Little Shop of Horrors?
UPDATE: This morning (1/21/15) as I was brushing my teeth before work, they started bleeding so much I could taste it. Apparently they’re still mad about yesterday’s torture.
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