I don’t know how or why they do it. I can barely get through the unbearable torture once or twice a year, trapped for an hour at a time in the dreaded ‘fang shway’ chair. They, the feared tooth fairies who keep returning to work every day, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do, as if they actually enjoy it. I wonder if it’s really possible to actually enjoy that kind of work or are they in it for the money, or perhaps for some or other reason?
Imagine having to look into people’s mouths every day from morning to early evening and then having your fingers in those mouths for most of the time. And it’s not as if they can actually have a normal conversation with you. In fact, dentists have to learn a whole new language skill, one that incorporates an individualistic dialectic code that is unique to every patient. Mind you, I think we all sound the same when we’re projecting under duress from the confines of the chair.
Dentist: So, how is your daughter doing, Mr. Hall?
Mr. Hall: Mawi ee aaing you-a-er-iti ee aa or.
Dentist: Oh, really, Mary’s starting university in the fall? Wow, they grow up so fast, don’t they.
Mr. Hall: Aah.
Every day, you’re looking into this black hole of iniquity. Could the money really be worth it?
They say that when you die and go to heaven, you will get a crown for every good deed you did on earth, all the battles you won and all the sacrifices you made. We all think that the crown spoken of is a royal crown but what if it’s just a good set of teeth because we’ll be smiling all the time. But then, what would dentists’ knee-jerk reaction be when they find out they’ll be getting a crown or crowns. Is a crown not the last thing they ever want to see again? And I wonder what dentists and doctors are going to do in heaven. We know that writers, painters, musicians and artists will simply continue with what they were doing down here on earth – creating – but what about doctors and dentists? Surely our teeth won’t need any maintenance anymore (I really hope so) and our bodies will all be perfect, right? Are doctors and dentists going to wander about looking all lost and forlorn? Perhaps most of them will be playing golf all day but I know that’s an unfair thing to say as not all doctors and dentists play golf. Some play tennis.
I’ve never liked the dentist and I’m not talking about the men or women themselves but the whole ordeal that surrounds going to the dentist. The last dentist I had was a great guy. He was friendly and competent but I just didn’t want him doing any excavations in my mouth, no matter how gifted he was. Ever since I can remember, going to the dentist has been a major issue for me. As a little boy, it was always the worst time of my life and I struggled to sleep the night before. I can report that I have matured a bit and even though I manage not to give it a thought the night before, I am still very much that same little boy when I am lying there in the chair, waiting to be poked, prodded and drilled by Joseph Mengele. My body is normally spun so tight, I could easily have been cast as Katnis’ bow in the Hunger Games.
So, basically what I’m trying to say is that my trips to the dentist have not become easier over the years. In fact, I’m embarrassed to say, they might have gotten worse. The last dentist I went to (with whom I’d been for many years) knew my antics and I’m sure he charged me a bit more after each visit. I am a gagger, cringer, spitter and a total sissy once I’ve been confined to the chair. I don’t mind the injection, the polite drilling and the rinsing but my favorite moment is when I actually get to leave the place. The worst is that deep drill that is like rumbling thunder in your mouth, shaking your head, loosening the wax in your ears, making you feel like you’re on an old ox wagon on the rockiest road to Mars.
When the nurse sticks that suction tube thingie down my throat, I gag and raise my hand, making everyone take a step back as if I’m about to blow. I’m a Philharmonic conductor who is in charge and simply decides when he’s had enough. Confidently, with my hand raised, I sit up as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to do. I then calm myself down, glance with disdain over my shoulder at the masked torturer behind me, give him a sympathetic smile and announce calmly to the room, ’I’m ok’. I then I take up the tense bow position again, ready to face the next onslaught (I told you I had it bad!). I’m always polite and apologize for breaking the doctor’s flow in the moment. Fortunately, this dentist was Thai and although he was very polite, I’m sure he was feigning it with me and probably felt like I did, longing for the moment I would leave his chair and his property. That’s why I’m sure he charged me more because my dental bills were always higher than my wife’s.
So, for the first time ever, during my final visit to my dentist before I left Thailand, I bit his finger. The amazing thing was that he apologized to me after I toothed him like a hound! I really didn’t do it on purpose (really!) because I like him as a person so I’m not sure what my subconscious mind was thinking. It all happened so fast and I was actually impressed with the speed with which I snapped, almost as if I’d just released my inner Rottweiler. But I was even more impressed with the speed with which he pulled his hand away. Unfortunately, I still got him. After that, there was a lot of polite bowing going on as we both fought for the responsibility of the nip. And while we were doing our little dance, his two dental assistants patiently stood by and silently watched us (probably rolling their eyes and pulling faces behind their masks, wishing we’d just stop all the fanning about).
On that same visit, I experienced another first when my dentist told me that he was having trouble getting to a back tooth because my tongue was in the way. After asking him what he would have me do, he told me to simply relax it. I found it extremely hard to open my mouth as wide as I could while relaxing my tongue at the same time. Things got so bad that he gave me a mirror so I could observe my tongue and through disciplined muscle maneuvering, police it to the side while he was drilling to ensure that he would not impale it with his gimlet (the thought alone had me wanting to leave immediately). But his plan didn’t work at all. What made things worse was after he injected me, I couldn’t tell whether I had a tongue anymore. I saw it there in the mirror but it could just as well have belonged to the next patient – I felt nothing. The end result was that they decided to relieve me of my mirror responsibilities and rather give the important task to one of the side nurses whose sole job it now became to pin the rebellious monster down. This she did with some or other cold stainless steel instrument which I luckily couldn’t feel, while he rapidly zapped the tooth with whatever weapon he had in hand.
So, in my deepest core I keep wondering if it will ever get better, me and the dentist, the dentist and I. I really would like to start growing up now at the tender age of 61 and start facing the music like a man. But every time I’d been there, everyone involved knew I had failed the exam yet again.
Oh well, there’s always a chance of improvement before I reach 70, right? (This is where you make all the right noises and drop any kind of words of encouragement, real or superficial.) So tell me, is there hope for me? Anyone? Anyone?