Fun, games and dentistry!

I have been visiting the same dentist since I was about eight and as I am now 26 that is a pretty lengthy time to be doing anything. My dentist, the dental nurse and I have been lamenting the state of my teeth for a similar amount of time. Point proved when I was asking if my peg tooth that we’re thinking of crowning had a big root and he pulled out an X-ray and said ‘well, you can see… oh, it’s not there yet. How old is this?’ There were mostly milk teeth. How old indeed?! Both he and the nurse have hardly changed at all in the time I have been visiting and I have blossomed into the fullness of womanhood. *snorts* The room that the dentist does his dentistry in had also remained completely unchanged, until my last visit.

Until this point my dentist was the very proud owner of one of those terrible ‘headrush’ dentist chairs. Know the ones I mean? They have a big lever that the dentist stands on and then he can lift, swivel or tip the entire chair. My dentist, for the past eighteen years, had operated the chair thusly:

First of all, you get on to the chair. It’s always slightly higher than is comfortable and you always had to physically climb on in the same style as one might mount a mechanical bull. Once you’ve settled yourself the dentist will stamp on the lever without warning and yank the head end of the chair pretty much into his crotch. Your feet are now the highest point and the blood starts to rush towards your head. Not where you want it when there’s drilling going on in your mouth. For some bizarre reason, my dentist also tends to keep his finger in your mouth when he’s talking to you. It’s like some kind of comfort thing. For him, I guess. Doesn’t help me to relax any. But I digress… once he’s spent a good half an hour poking around in your mouth and keeping his finger warm and you’ve spent the same time staring up his nostrils, wondering if the face mask is for your benefit or his then it’s time to rinse and spit. The dentist does try to warn you, bless him, by saying ‘OK Dear?’ but he never fails to catch me unaware. He stamps on the lever again and hurls you back into the upright position so quickly that I swear you can feel the G forces. Your blood hurtles back into your feet and you have a job maintaining your balance as you stagger toward the door. I think it’s all a cunning ploy to disorientate you so you don’t complain about the extortionate prices of having someone rest their finger in your mouth for twenty minutes. …At least I hope it’s his finger…

Now the dentist has moved into the room that used to house the scary x-ray machines and has a new and exciting electrical chair. I point this out immediately after I get into the room. I also mock him. I believe my exact words were, ‘Nice chair. Do you know how to use it?’ He laughs. He has known me a long time. He knows what to expect. Anyway, I sit on, rather than ‘mount’ the new chair, which makes a big difference to start with. Then all by the magic of pressing a button, he can move you from a sitting, into a reclining position. I’m impressed. Then the dentist presses the button to lower me (presumably to crotch level…) but something goes very wrong and I end up at about ankle height. He spends some time swearing and violently stamping on a button next to my left ear, but I remain stubbornly lying pretty much on the floor. Why in the Hell does the chair even go this low? From my position at ground level, I enquire if he wouldn’t like me to get up. ‘No, Dear’ he responds through clenched teeth.

Apparently we have to wait for the dental nurse to reappear. When she does and catches sight of me waving cheerfully from the floor, both she and I are barely able to restrain our laughter. She raises me back to crotch level, he pops his finger into my mouth and we’re away, while they have their usual argument. It’s a new view, but oddly the same. I’m certainly sure his nostril hair is greyer than usual at any rate….