In the dentist chair

July 2, 2020

 

Yesterday I spent much of the day crying.

Those tears began in the dentist’s chair but the whole story began 52 years ago.

 

I was three-years-old when I began to beg to go to the dentist. My siblings got to go twice a year and when they came home they each had a gleaming new tooth brush and fresh white smiles which they showed off before supper.  They talked about clean smooth teeth and ran their tongues across their surfaces. I was jealous. What a special event, something to look forward to, going to the dentist. I wanted such a special event in my life but had to wait until I was five years old.

 

Sometime in mid August 1968, before Summer ended and kindergarten began, I went to the dentist for the-very-first-time!

 

Until then I had never heard of cavities.

 

Our family dentist, Dr. G, had an office at Lakeside Shopping Center. It was on the back side of the complex on the lower level where very few people went. If we weren’t going to the dentist or finding a parking space near the lake from where we wouldwatch the 4th of July fireworks show we never parked there.  

Neither did anyone else.  

The lot was often empty. 

 

It wasn’t an ideal location for an office but, once your eyes moved past the vast field of asphalt, the view did open up to thelittle lake where cattails, geese and carp resided. I had to hold my mom’s hand and look both ways while crossing the parking lot to get to the front door but I didn’t mind.  All else aside, Iwas feeling pretty grown up going to the dentist. On that warm August day I met Dr. G and Mary. I met Mary first because, besides being the doctor’s wife, she was the office receptionist. I liked Mary.  She was nice. She had a pretty smile.  She doled outcandy when the appointment was done. I wasn’t so sure about Dr. G.  He smiled a lot. He had a mischievous glint in his eyeand he talked nonstop while his hands were in my mouth.  I answered his questions with grunts and nods but really couldn’t talk with him the way I would have liked.

As a muted five year old, I couldn’t relate.

 

 

Hung on the office walls in the reception area and in the individual patient rooms were pop art images of clowns; child clowns, sad clowns, hobo clowns, all sorts of cartoonish clowns. I was not afraid of clowns. I didn’t even know that people could be afraid of clowns. Rather, these pictures captured my attention and, over the years, I studied them intently but they did not inspire a sense of  joy. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three dental chairs; pale green, blue, and pink, the popular colors of the 1960s, stood in the center of three different patient areas. The pink one was my favorite. Each chair could be raised and lowered by a foot pump at the base of the chair. A spit sink, attached somewhere in the back of the chair, ran water just below the rim to keep the porcelain rinsed of spit and blood.Tiny dental drill bits were attached to a long, metal, flexible rod that were, like the chair pump, controlled by a foot lever.  Dr. G could either speed up or slow down the drill with his foot. The harder he pushed on the pedal the faster the drill bit would turn and the louder and higher in pitch the buzz of the drill would get(and, as it turned out, the harder I would grip the arms on the dentist chair.) Dr. G often did not use Novocain. He kept a box of Kleenex nearby, on the counter, but not a trash can for vomit. 

 

After a couple of years Dr. G and Mary moved their practice to some rooms in the back of my dad’s medical office, a building he owned with his partner, Dr. Lucy.  It was an early form of a medical complex on 38th Avenue in Wheat Ridge, Colorado. Dr. G had his own entrance right off the parking lot and up a flight of stairs. On the first visit to the new location, instead of parking in the front like we owned the place, we parked on the side of the building. A novelty.

 

Hope floats.

 

This new office had several rooms in which to place the wearing pastel colored dental chairs and clown pictures and it had a reception area complete with a candy bowl that sat on the edge of Mary’s desk. 

 

The office smelled like antiseptic. 

 

Waiting in the reception area I studied the clowns looking for something new, something I hadn’t noticed before. As it turned out, except for the location of the office, neither Dr. G’s practice nor the clowns changed.

 

 

Over the years my grandmothers sometimes stayed at our house or I would go visiting them. They both had false teeth, each having been in automobile accidents, before seatbelts, as young women. I liked to look at those dentures sitting in the glass next to their beds. I never got to touch them but, sometimes, during the day, they would take them out of their mouths for me so I could see their bare gums.

“I want to have false teeth,” I told each of them at various times. But they argued with me, each occasion, the very same argument.

“Why would you want false teeth?”

“I’m tired of brushing.”

They would chuckle.

“Keep brushing your teeth. You’ll want to keep them.”

“No.  I want to put my teeth in a glass of water. It’s easier.”

They shook their heads. “No it isn’t. When you grow up you’ll understand.”

Thinking about my next visit to Dr. G I thought an automobile accident might be just the ticket.

 

Thank goodness for me, braces were neither an option nor a necessity. Except for a gap between tooth 7 and 8 my teeth were relatively straight and white and not an occasion for childhood teasing. The gap prevented a modeling career I was told at one point and I discarded (and later deleted) photos that accentuated it but adverse as I was to dentist offices, I was unwilling to correct it. Cosmetic dentistry, elective procedures?  No thanks.

 

Throughout my adult years, until I moved to New Mexico, I had access to dental insurance and kept my regular 6 month visits. I never had the jaw injuring auto accidents that my grandmothers had but my mouth had hands in it frequently enough and I carried just little enough metal there that the metal detectors failed to alarm.

 

Over the next three decades I had my wisdom teeth pulled, cavities filled, and four root canal surgeries performed.  Adangerously abscessed molar eventually became a bridge with two crowns. I survived it all with almost no trauma, having chosen dentists that advertised themselves as “pain free.”  Onehad me wear headphones to listen to music during procedures.  Another gave the option to watch movies and all three talked nonstop to distract me (only one removing his hands from my mouth so I could properly answer him.) Most importantly, they all used anesthesia. But, as effective as their techniques were, they didn’t stop me from white knuckle gripping the dental arm rests, curling my toes, nor leaking tears from the corners of my eyes. I was neither mocked nor teased once in spite of myselfbut rather, it seemed the dentists, hygienists, and me, understood each other.  

 

For nearly 10 years, after moving to New Mexico, I did not visit a dentist.

I told people it was a lot like finding a hairdresser, once I found one I didn’t want to change my allegiances. One does not pick a dentist “willy-nilly.” But the real reasons were much more sinister.

I didn’t have insurance and I did not want to further risk my life.

 

 

 

A chipped front tooth changed all that.

 

The chip was mostly along the lingual side of my tooth and my tongue would not leave it alone.  The edges of it were rough and a tiny divot along the bottom edge of #8 was visible when I smiled, if I stared at it long enough.  It was clear. I needed a dentist.

 

A friend recommended one in Belen.  “He is pain free,” my friend said, “and uses a laser. I never need Novocain or laughing gas.”  

 

(What I found out in a later conversation was that this friendnever asked for anesthesia during tooth procedures.  NEVER. Not even if it hurt. It was good I didn’t know this. I’d have probably looked for a different referral.)

 

I still didn’t have insurance but, since it was an acquaintance’sout-of-control puppy that chipped my tooth, she said she would pay for the repair. Armed with a good excuse, a referral for a pain free dentist, and a guilty conscience I drove my childhood fear to the office in Belen.

 

My first visit to Dr. CS started seamlessly. I checked in with the receptionist and, almost immediately, the hygienist called me to the back office.  Laughter and music came from all corners of the building; the employees conversing and joking while the radio played 1970’s rock. My drive had been long so I asked to use the bathroom before getting into the dental chair.  That room was clean and tidy and smelled lightly of pine. Ultra modern, thetoilet flushed itself, the sink water turned on with a wave of my hand, and the paper towel dispenser eased out two towel sheets once it detected my presence. Except for the toilet paper, I didn’t have to touch a thing.  And, I think, though I cannot be certain, that I heard an automatic, disinfectant/scent being sprayed from the ceiling!

 

Once I sat in the hydraulic dentist chair (no spit sink, no foot pump) it was only a matter of minutes before my visit was over. With a wave of the magic laser wand and an abracadabra or two, my tooth was repaired.

 

BUT…

 

“How long has it been since you’ve been to the dentist?” 

Gulp. “About ten years.”

“Things look pretty good lacking dentistry for 10 years but some of your fillings are really old.  You still have some mercury amalgams. They should be replaced.”

 

“I suppose so. I don’t have insurance.”  Dollar signs and car accidents flashed through my mind. If I didn’t survive an accident (thereby avoiding dentures) I’d certainly had enough dental work up until then that my cadaver might easily be identified.

 

Dr. CS went on, reading my mind about cars, “You know, if your vehicle wasn’t working you wouldn’t hesitate to bring out the credit card.  The health of your teeth is even more important than an auto.  You wouldn’t want to end up with dentures.”  I thought of my truck.  I thought of my teeth. I thought Dr. CS could read minds.

 

I smiled weakly, guiltily, and accepted my fate.

That day’s service, I got a smooth tooth, pain-free, 20% off my bill for paying cash,  and an additional unexplained deduction.So, I set an appointment for a cleaning and a first filling replacement.

 

One month later, with laughter and music as a backdrop, a full set of dental X-rays appeared on the computer in front of my dentist chair. In less than a few minutes the technician had created a full picture of my mouth. I was astonished.  Had dentistry changed that much in 10 years? She explained that Dr.CS and all the staff attended annual seminars on the latest techniques and that being on the forefront of dentistry is an office priority. “Dr. CS has all the latest equipment.”

(Having previously become acquainted with the bathroom I couldn’t doubt her.)

 

While the office manager and receptionist and other office staff told stories and laughed, I got a painless cleaning, an exam and a full explanation of the four fillings that would eventually be replaced. Then I got a tour of the whole office including the room where dental crowns are made in house. “We do everything here. Nothing gets sent out. It’s a lot faster and we can quality control the results.”

 

At the end of that visit I received a 20%  discount for paying cash.

 

I spread my appointments out and rescheduled a cleaning when my bank account told me I could.

Somewhere between filling number one and cleaning numbertwo I had to pull out a credit card and buy a new engine for my truck.

 

FUCK!

 

The dentist was RIGHT! Would he understand if I rescheduled another few appointments?   I began to rely heavily on Capital One.

 

During COVID-19, tooth 31, one with a 25 year old root canal, began to abscess.  I was so relieved to have begun a professional relationship with Dr. CS.

At that time, in the beginning of social distancing and the new virus, dentists were only allowed to take emergencies. No elective procedures were permitted. While I suspected my issue qualified as an emergency, I waited, hoping the pain would subside.  I did not want another root canal.

So, I took Advil.

I did not want to lose another tooth and, therefore requireanother bridge and crown, or horror of horrors, an implant!

Unemployed due to the pandemic, perilously close to a maxed out credit card, I waited.

I took more Advil

The weekend approached.

I knew about abscessing teeth; #15, the one that nearly abscessed into my sinus cavity came to mind.

Weekends and emergency procedures do not a happy bank statement make.

I called the dentist and left my phone number and waited by the phone.

 

“I’d like to give you a prescription for an antibiotic before we do anything else.  And I want you to take a course of aspirin for the next month to help with the inflammation. Aspirin is the best thing for pain and inflammation. Let’s give this tooth a chance to heal because we won’t redo the root canal. You will lose the tooth if it doesn’t settle down.”  My heart sank. Dr. CS explained the very specific instructions of how to take the aspirin, building up the dosage over the course of days, wrote a prescription and reduced my bite in the event that grinding my teeth during sleep had anything to do with my problem.

 

He sent me on my way and two weeks later I was, again, pain free.  I kept my appointment for my next cleaning.

 

During COVID I wear my mask, as recommended by the CDC but, of course, have to take it off for my exam and procedure. The elective procedure restriction lifted I had returned to the dentist for the third time (now for an amalgam replacement,) since the virus first hit the United States.

 

Sandy, the dental technician sat me in the chair.

“You have two fillings that still need to be replaced, one on either side of your mouth, the mirror image of each other. We are doing the one on the left today.”

 

I removed my mask. “Two?”  I was disappointed.  “I thought I only had one left.”

“I’m sorry. You have two. How are you feeling?  I need to take your temperature, you know, for the virus?”  I nodded.

“Actually,” I said, “I have a headache today but I get them alot.”

My temperature was normal.

 

“How are you feeling today?” Dr. CS asked as he came into the room.

“She has a headache,” Sandy replied for me.  “No fever.”

“I get them a lot,” I chimed in trying to dismiss it.  “I think it has something to do with my thyroid.”

“Let’s check your bite.”

He checked my bite, feeling the sides of my jaw in several places and asking me to bite down. 

Dr. CS’ face showed concern.

“Your bite is way off.  That’s probably what is causing the headaches.”

“So you’ll break my jaw and realign it and everything will be better.” I suggested and laughed.

 

“Well, we’d realign it, anyway.”

Our attention turned to the filling.

“We’ve used the laser on you before?”

I nodded. The doc settled down and got busy.

Whoops! Twinge of pain. 

 

I pulled back and a tear or two leaked from my eyes.

 

“Are you ok?” Sandy asked.

I nodded.

 

Another twinge and I moved my head ever-so-slightly and gripped the armrests.

“Are you ok?”  I nodded and thought of anesthesia. The pain was minimal but it was there. My heart rate increased and I held my breath. My memory was not serving me.  It was, rather, at the same time, out-of-place and exaggerated and doing exactly what it was meant to do, save me. But, really, in this case, fight or flight was not necessary. Still, the tears came.

 

“Your toes are curling,” Dr. CS said, lightheartedly . “Maybe you prefer anesthesia over laser? But we are almost done. Let’s check the X-ray.”

 

A wedge, a push, a grind and a polish, more tears (thank goodness for the rinse water overspray) and just as we were about to be done…”We really ought to work on that bite.”

I reminded him, “I’m cash only. I can only do a little at a time.  What does it even mean, work on my bite?”

 

“Oh we’d grind a little bit here and a little bit there so your bite would be even.  Do you want that gap in your teeth fixed.”  

I didn’t make eye contact. “Cash only… I mean, yes I want it fixed but…” I had wanted that gap fixed for years but I never told anyone, not a single soul.

 

“Sit down.”

I was sitting.

“Do you have a birthday coming up?’

“Next month, August 3rd, as a matter of fact.”

 

With the push of a button my seat moved back until I was in the exact right position for the doctor and Sandy to get to work. No anesthesia, just a laser, and scraping, and some sort build-up and pure artistry.

Several, “bite togethers”, some grinding and polish and the presentation of the mirror.

 

I glanced in the mirror. There is a magic wand hiding in the tips of Dr. CS fingers, I am certain.

The gap was gone but the tooth looked EXACTLY like it’s mirror image, #10; same color, same size, imperfectly perfect. I was bawling, quietly, tears streaming down my face.

 

“Happy Birthday!” He said.

I stood.

“Thank you,” I whispered through tears.

 

“Now wait, don’t go yet.  Stand in front of that mirror.” Dr. CS pointed to the wall mirror in the hall.

I did as instructed sort of. I glanced quickly sideways, mirrors never my friend. 

“Look,” he encouraged. “Smile.”  I did, quickly, barely. No gap. “That is how people are going to see you from now on.”

I could barely look at him.

I don’t think I looked at him.  

“Thank you,” I said again.  “Thank you.”

 

I went to the bathroom, all automatic, all state-of-the-art and sterile, and wept.

 

When I called DelRae and told her she said, “I don’t think I really paid attention to that gap and you never talked about it.  But now that you mention it, I think I remember it.”

 

“I never talked about it. No one knew it bothered me. I was resigned.”

 

“Too bad no one is going to see the work. You know, now that we all have to wear masks.”

 

We broke into laughter.

 

Too bad, indeed.