Yeah, we've all experienced it, to one degree or another. Here's a couple stories about time in the dental chair that will make your teeth rattle and have you scrambling for the dental floss and tooth brush!
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My first dentist earned his degree at the Joseph Mengele School of Experimental Dentistry. His name was Mo Carlson. Mo was a fitting name because he certainly more resembled tough guy Mo of the Three Stooges than say, Larry or Curly. Mo Carlson seemed tall and thin, with a cadaverous face and a stoney expression. Ironically, his teeth were filthy brown and his breath reeked. I was five years old when I paid my first visit to the linoleum clad office with the seasick green walls and table lamps with Geisha girl bases and fringed shades. One foot inside the door and I was slapped with that unmistakable smell of burning tooth enamel, the high pitched drill pierced my ear drums.
As we waited in the office, my sister and I would argue over who got to go first. Going first meant getting it over with. Nothing was worse than waiting and listening to the drill and the cries, knowing that your time was coming. Mo didn't believe in giving Novocaine to children, something that, as a mother, I now find particularly cruel. Mo would invariably find numerous cavities to fill each time he examined my teeth. But his pronouncement would only come after long periods of intense picking and scraping and digging. I've now come to believe that he was creating the cavities himself. I believe this now because I find it all too curious that from the time I left his care at age 15 no dentist has ever found a speck of decay in my teeth. No, all subsequent dental work I've had done (and that is PLENTY) has been merely dentists trying to repair Mo's crumbling fillings. The pain that man inflicted on me I can remember even now. When a Dr. asks me to describe a pain on a scale of one to ten with ten being the worst, I don't know how to answer. Breaking three bones in my wrist was about a 2 because having five cavities drilled at age 8 with no novocaine is a ten. And then what about the time he extracted four of my teeth to prepare me for orthodonture? He sprayed some orange scented liquid on the tooth that had the same mild numbing effect as "Orajel" and then proceeded to yank the tooth. Yes. And then three more. I can still hear the crunch as the root was ripped from my jaw.
I was 15 when my mother finally said "no more" to my father and took my sister and I to a new dentist, Dr. Frost. Dr. Frost was almost the complete opposite of Dr. Carlson. Dr. Frost was a blond, Nordic looking guy who was extremely jolly and was always asking if anything he did was hurting me. When I would respond with a "no" he would answer "All rightey-dightey!" I could hardly believe my clear check-ups year after year. How could my teeth be so horrible at Dr. Carlson's and so great at Dr. Frost's?
For about ten years or so, I sailed through that heavenly period of needing no dental work. And then suddenly, Mo's original fillings started to give way. I was beset with on-lays, and crowns, and root canals, gum surgery, restorations, you name it I've had it. And each time a crown falls out or part of a tooth breaks off, I figure it will be time to have the tooth pulled. But each time, though the situation gets worse and worse, my dentist finds yet another way to rebuild it, restore it,and save it. Even though the tooth may be in an even more weakened state, and may crumble sooner than it did the last time. I guess the tooth becomes something of a cash cow. The longer it can be kept in my mouth, the more chance for future restorative work.
I don't complain about it, though. Because my dentist these days is this 6'3" dreamy guy with deep dark pools for eyes. I don't really mind going in to see him. He's very sensitive and concerned. He's a far cry from Mo Carlson.
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(c) 1999, Mars Tokyo
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