When undergoing anything stressful or painful we're told to visualize ourselves on a tropical beach, or floating through fresh powder, or wherever our own happy place is.
We didn't have dental insurance until a few years ago, hence I hadn't been to the dentist for quite some time. At first we were on a plan so amazing that the receptionist blurted out, "This is awesome coverage!" as if she could scarcely believe my great good fortune. Visiting this dentist was like spending time at a spa: TV above the river-rock fireplace in the cozy and elegant wood-paneled waiting area with overstuffed chairs, cookies, and coffee-table books on art and photography, subdued and soothing lighting, a bathroom that is more homey then the one in my home, headphones with a choice of music, or DVDs or premium cable on the LCD TV at every chair. Digital X-rays so you can clearly see your mouth on the monitor while the dentist explains where and why there will be pain in your future, and she is so very sorry that she can't spare you every bit of that pain and would gladly assume that pain for you if it were possible. Constant checking to see if you are comfortable, pain-free, or need more ointment on your lips because they are looking ever so slightly parched (Bag Balm, by the way). Do you need the gas adjusted? Do you need a restroom break? Perhaps a shoulder massage? Can I wash your car for you while you're waiting? And the best part: without requesting it, a little envelope for you to take home with a few Vicodin in it should you feel any discomfort later.
New insurance, so now we're consigned to a managed-care dental factory. The kind of place where the dentists' names are not painted on the door, but stuck into a black felt readerboard, letter by white plastic letter. Go there six months apart and all the names will be different than the last time you visited because no one sticks around long enough to merit the commitment of a name rendered in paint. The kind of place that assumes you're a lazy slob and can't be trusted to floss and know that Bacteria Lives in Your Mouth! The kind of place that doesn't mention the availability of gas.
Today at the new dentist I had to get an old filling drilled out and most of the tooth rebuilt in anticipation of a crown (the old dentist would have done the crown first because this is a half-assed approach to proper dental treatment).
Sitting in the chair after being commanded to put on cheap plastic sunglasses that smashed my eyelashes and sans headphones, BBC America, and Bag Balm, and while listening to the drill and gagging on the bits of tooth flying around toward the back of my throat, I realized that I was visualizing not the warm beach on St. John, my usual happy place, but my old dentist.
Recent Comments