I always thought I would die with all of my adult teeth. (Of course my wisdom teeth were yanked when I was in my late teens so those don’t count).
Through the years, I have taken relatively good care of my remaining teeth.
By this I mean I have:
Brushed regularly, flossed (occasionally), gone for checkups and rarely opened a bottle with them. (That last part was inserted to see if you were still reading).
As children, my sister and I were hauled off to the dentist twice a year. We discussed this the other day, as a matter of fact. The dentist of our childhood was
interesting scary. Dental appointment day struck fear in our hearts. There was no hygienist.
He yelled at his office staff ( a number of whom were his family members). Sometimes he had no office or assisting staff and would have to stop what he was doing to answer the phone when it rang when some other victim called for an appointment.
He lived in the neighborhood in which his office was located and he once left me in the chair with some metal apparatus in my mouth while he went home to start his lawn mower for the yard boy.
He died his wispy hair and it never looked quite right.
No anesthesia was used when he did fillings. Out came that nasty awful sounding drill. One was expected to open as wide as possible, not shake in fear and endure whatever form of torture had been devised. Our mom insisted that he was a “good dentist” because we never got toothaches. I just realized that we were duped. Our mom had false teeth, even back then. Regardless, we were provided regular dental care.
As an adult I did manage to find dentists that were compassionate, professional and kept me from having toothaches. The dentist to whom I have gone to for over 10 years is that sort. He explains things and has my best interest in mind and keeps my fangs in the best possible working order.
Imagine my chagrin when I was recently told that one of my teeth needed to be extracted. I will not bore you with the details of how this particular tooth was the reason for two more consultations with two different specialists.
In the end I had two teeth extracted. Dr. L. and staff were fabulous. Everything was explained in great detail. They knew I was nervous. I was so sad. More sad than scared, actually. I did not feel one bit of pain. I never even needed to take the prescription pain medication afterward. I am a compliant patient and have been blessed to have healed well.
I rode my bike to my post-op appointment 10 days after the extractions. I discovered, to my surprise, that there is no bike rack to lock up my bicycle.
What? People don’t ride their bikes to the oral surgeon’s office?
As you can see I availed myself of the handicap parking sign. Rest assured I did NOT park in the handicap spot as I did not have a permit for that.
Thank you for reading!