So regular readers will remember that about a month ago, I attempted to go to the dentist. Actually, if you read the blog post you might have thought I was actually going for the removal of my wisdom teeth, rather than an appointment about getting them reviewed, but apparently I wasn’t very clear.
Anyhow, on Monday, I finally went for the cancelled-due-to-gastro appointment, dragging all four children along with me, because I’m a little crazy like that.
I was a little apprehensive. Not about what the dentist might do to me, so much as the man himself. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I seem to have landed myself with a rather crotchety French man for the examining of my teeth. In the past I’ve been scared not about his drill or other implements, but that he might tell me off for poor oral hygiene or something similarly distressing.
So, to my absolute surprise when I walked in on Monday, he was smiling.
Not just smiling, I might add.
Grinning ear to ear like some kind of demented Cheshire cat.
I’ll admit this made me even more nervous.
I attempted to make myself comfortable in his chair after giving all the children strict instructions to sit down and be quiet, while Mr Happy asked what he could do for me today.
‘I have a crooked wisdom tooth.’
‘Ahh,’ he replied.
Under the deeply suspicious scrutiny of my offspring, the dental nurse attached my bib, and after some awkward confusion over sunglasses (theirs or mine; I wore mine. Apparently they’re just as good), the grinning Frenchman looked in my mouth at my tooth.
I swear it took all of 15 seconds, before he was proclaiming that it was in fact ‘horizontal’, would most certainly, ‘cut into my cheek,’ and was ‘going to have to come out.’
All facts of which I myself was already aware.
Then he asked about any other wisdom teeth.
Call me crazy, but one would think that a dentist, upon inspection of a persons oral cavity, would not just examine the one digit mentioned by the patient, but would perhaps take a cursory glance around the entire mouth?
It seemed it was up to me to show him exactly where to look for the other, partially erupted bearer of all things wisdomous.
After another 10 seconds of clinical and thorough examination of my other tooth, I was asked to remove all earrings, and sent down the hall with his larger than life (that was sarcastic) dental nurse, in order to have an X-Ray.
It’s been a few years since I had a dental X-ray. About 19 I’d guess, and the process has changed just a tad.
I was ushered into a dark little room and asked to place my chin on a piece of plastic, with a probe looking thing between my tooth. I was unsure if my lips should be touching the probe, and was slightly nervous about if it had been adequately disinfected since the last person had used it, when the machine started to move.
It’s hard to describe really, but the sides began to slowly rotate so that they were soon opposite one other, making a mechanical and slightly creepy sound. It was entirely possible that they were checking my brains for implants.
If I actually had any implants to check for.
Instead of wondering whether or not my head was going to explode, I fixed my glance on what looked like a tiny camera, only to read the words ‘do not look into this light.’
‘Why?’ I thought.
‘Is it just because it’s a light, or is there some kind of scary laser beam that is going to dissolve my corneas in their socket?’
Before any further disturbing thoughts of unexpected laser surgery occurred, I was instructed to swallow, and keep still, but close my eyes.
I’m not really sure what the machine did after that, as I had my eyes glued together to avoid any potential risk, but whatever it was happened, and I was sent back to the Jubilant Dentist to await the verdict.
Can I just say, dental X-rays take far too long to process, and creating small talk with someone who is potentially going to rip teeth out of your mouth, is not the easiest thing in the world.
Eventually the morose nurse as she shall henceforth be known, returned with the images, and it was confirmed (surprise, surprise), that the teeth would need to come out.
Obviously the next step is to decide how and where this well occur and move the process along.
Apparently it’s not.
It seems that my jolly tooth doctor doesn’t find much satisfaction in wisdom removal, and so referred me to his sadistic colleague who does.
Said colleague will then make an appointment for the evacuation of all carefully acquired knowledge or refer me to someone else.
Which of course explains why he was so darn happy.
Because if I got to charge someone $175 to look in their mouth for 20 seconds, tell them what they already knew, and then refer them to someone else to do all the work for me, I think I’d be pretty exuberant too!
So I’m joining in with Kate and the gang today, because words can not describe how thankful I am for private health cover.
Do you have an overly enthusiastic health care professional?