...Sometime last year I finally convinced myself to go to the dentist again. It had been roughly 8 years since my last appointment and something told me that a time span approaching a decade wasn't in compliance with the recommended regularity of visits. Truth be told, my kids were due for a visit and I figured I couldn't lambaste them for their dental hygiene unless I kept up with my own. But I absolutely hate it there. And the weird thing is that I haven't had a cavity...ever. In fact, other than braces, I've never had anything wrong with my teeth that required any real work. And even the braces were pretty tame. I didn't have any rubber bands, or headgear or Frankenstein-esque bolts that required tightening. Outside of the occasional stray wire, resulting in a bloody cheek, there wasn't much to them. So why, then, do I absolutely loath having them work on me? I'll tell you why...because even routine check-ups hurt like a bitch, that's why.
It makes me squirm just thinking about those seemingly-gentle ladies jabbing into my face with their little mouth sickles and manhandling my teeth with an orbital sander as though they were weathered planks of an oak floor. Have you ever seen a knee surgery on video? The way they just bend and contort the leg all over the place as if there wasn't a human attached to it? Well, they do that same thing with your mouth when you get your teeth cleaned. The only difference is, you are awake the whole time so you can see, hear and FEEL every poke, prod and bludgeon. You get to smell your enamel being sanded off your teeth. And you get to taste the bloody mess they've made of your gums right before you get your tongue sucked out of your mouth by the hand-held Dyson they cram in there. All this work to make sure your teeth are pretty and functional. To me, this seems to be the equivalent of keeping one's car running smoothly by every six months having a mechanic dump a toolbox full of wrenches into the open engine compartment and driving around the block.
Of course, after they're done and my mouth feels like I ate a razor blade pie covered in minty sand, they asked the question..."do you floss?". My thought was "Lady, it took me 8 frickin' years to get into the dentist, do you actually think I've taken the time to run a waxed rope through my teeth every day?" And I don't think for a second that she actually wants to know whether I floss. I think she knows she just detonated a bomb in my mouth and she wants to shift the blame to me. Like "Sir, if you would floss then I wouldn't have to use this rusty metal hook and you wouldn't leave here feeling like you spent an hour chewing on thumbtacks." I'm on to them.
And perhaps what scares me even more than enduring that "cleaning" shitstorm is that there is a chance they MIGHT actually find something wrong and have to do "major" work as well. But after my experiences with "routine" cleanings, I'm pretty sure I don't want to be around when they get into the heavy duty shit. During the light stuff they scrape invisible goo off your teeth with a sharpened hook and blast your face with a super-sonic mini water cannon. So for a cavity do they roll a fuckin' Bobcat next to you and hammer away at your face like they were busting up a sidewalk? The fear is rational people.
And now it seems as though my daughter has inherited the gene that allows one to sense the danger these sadists represent. I know this because the last time I took her and Max to the dentist (their second check-up) Lucy absolutely LOST. HER. SHIT. Everything was fine when we got there. Her and Max went straight to the little play area that they have set up next to the gigantic fish tank where they promptly made a mess. They were happy and enjoying the day...and then they called their names. Max went into his room and began the process. But she immediately froze up. It was like someone had called her into Orwell's "Room 101". I went over to her to try and help her move along and she grabbed onto my leg and would not let go. Now we were both immobilized. I tried to pick her up and she yelped. I tried to kneel down but her grasp tightened and she wouldn't let me bend my legs. So I bent over and asked her what was wrong. It was at that very moment that it started.
Somewhere within her tiny frame a connection was made with the depths of hell and, as though her throat was an expressway from the lakes of fire, demons POURED from her mouth. She writhed. She gasped. She flailed. She screamed. I kept looking around to see if Max von Sydow was outside the door. She would not let the hook-lady touch her. And every time she said something like "It's OK Lucy, we just want to count your teeth", she got louder and more incoherent. I think she started sweating. I knew I had. The hook-lady said "maybe I'll step outside and you can have a moment". (my thought was that instead of taking a "moment", she could be "taking" me to where they kept all the liquor.) So she left the room and I tried to get my daughter to calm down. But she wouldn't even look at me. Instead, she kept thrashing her arms around and kicking her legs out. At one point she kicked me in the chin. Now, my chin is pretty large and hard to miss, so I didn't get too bent out of shape at that point. But then she kicked again and plugged her baby brother in the head and knocked him over. Now HE'S crying, she's having a freakin' seizure and I'm starting to get pretty pissed off. I mean, like "in about 10 seconds I'm taking away birthdays and Christmas"-type pissed off. And to top it off, my lovely wife, who was supposed to have been there 10 minutes prior to this little shit show, was nowhere to be found. So there I was with a crying baby, another toddler (who was bravely enduring everything in another room thank GOD) and this frickin' SPAZ curled up in a ball on the dentists chair sobbing and kicking like a drugged rodeo horse. Nice.
Then the lady came back in and gave her the word..."the doctor said that we'll have to try again next time. He can't see her if she's like this". And as though the director had screamed "SCENE"...the show ended. She straightened up, gathered herself, de-wrinkled her dress and went into the other room where her brother sat with sunglasses on (I was in no position to care why), getting his teeth sealed. And then her mother showed up. I left.
I was so torqued at my daughter that I momentarily began looking for toddler military schools on my blackberry "Point" app. But in the back of my mind, I could not stop thinking about how well her antics had worked and how absolutely flawless her execution was. She didn't want to go to the dentist and by letting all that evil come out of her and by laying waste to the entire dentist's office, she prevented me from making her go. And to top it off, I'm scared to even try again. GENIUS!!!
So now I have a safety net. If I ever go to their office and they tell me I have to have something major done I'm going to go succumb to my inner demons and go to a very dark place. Let's see those bastards jab me in the tongue after I start chanting in Aramaic and bite one of their fingers off.
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