Archive | 11:21 PM

Day 213: how to fix a sweet tooth

1 Aug


I almost forgot I have the world’s sweetest dentist.

Until, today of course, when I was sitting in the dental recliner (what I prefer to refer to as The Bleeder Chair, because my gums always bleed when I sit there, no matter how much I brush, floss, rinse, repeat.)

Now, you might think you have the world’s best dentist, but here’s why I know mine is the sweetest around:

1) The Bleeder Chairs are perfectly aligned with a view of Boston, so when your teeth are being cleaned, scraped and blasted, you enjoy the best view Boylston Street has to offer.

2) My dentist didn’t scold me when I sheepishly admitted to not making a dental appointment for the last three years.  Instead, Dr. Davis oohed and aahed at how good my teeth looked, especially since I hadn’t made an appointment in three years.

3)  Dr. Davis fixed my chipped tooth and didn’t flinch when I told him why it chipped (because I was chewing my nails, while I was driving).

4) My dentist’s office has an official office dog; his name is Beamer.  He’s 14-years old and I think he’s a Cocker Spaniel.

I wish all my doctors over my last thirty-seven years would have had such great bedside manners (and dog-side companions).

The all-time worst offender was one medical professional, who, when I was undergoing pre-surgery exams for my teenage cancer diagnosis, peered down at me with a straight face and asked me to go “wee wee” in a cup.

“What??!! I am seventeen. How old do you think I am?” my mind raced.

I was trying my best to be a big girl, taking each medical appointment one step at a time.  I didn’t cry when they told me I had cancer.  I didn’t cry when they biopsied bone marrow as a surprise on one doctor’s visit.  I laid on the oncologist’s table face down, gripping the sides, white knuckled, and watched my mother wring her hands and wipe tears from her face as they removed large amounts of marrow from the small of my back with gigantic horse sized needles — all the while consoling my mother.  “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

And, now, a doctor is asking me to go WEE WEE IN A CUP?  My teenage brain wanted to scream back, “I understand the word urinate, dumbass.”

Of course I didn’t say that to him.  I just fumed in the bathroom stall as I waited for urine to fill the flimsy plastic cup without spilling it over the edge on my hands, or worse, my clothes.

It’s twenty years later.
I still have an aversion to hospitals, doctor’s appointments, or anything in a white lab coat.

But, not so today.
As I sat in Dr. Davis’ Bleeder Chair, and he oohed and aahed at how white my teeth were, asking “do you whiten your teeth?” —  I answered back, “No, but I gave up sugar and chocolate this year,” with the pride of a Girl Scout looking for brownie points.

And, that, made us both smile.

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