Greetings,
And welcome to another, perhaps your first, Fuzzy Friday open thread for the Street Prophets group... and any other lost souls who were attracted by the alluring scent of freshly baked cookies.
C'mon in, there's no dress code or platinum membership card-- truly everyone is welcome.
'Tis been a week of dental adventure. I'm not sure how much of it I'll manage to relate before it's time to publish this diary so I should probably begin by posting a calming photo:
No need to fear for this ol' fuzzyhead's fangs. They're still the fairest in the land. It's just been a week for thinking about teeth. The problem was actually fairly minor...
It started with popcorn, as so many things do. Eating popcorn can be as dangerous as chewing a mouthful of thumbtacks. I was well aware of this. I’d had my upper palette torn by the hulls before. The occasional poke to my gums was always a sharp reminder that popcorn doesn’t care. Popcorn can be cruel. I was enjoying a buttery walk on the wild side last week when one of those razor sharp pericarp fragments bit into the tender fleshy gum line at the base of one of my molars. Nothing new to me, I thought. After a few more greedy mouthfuls I realized that the hull was still clawing at me. It was far back enough in my mouth that my tongue just wasn’t up to the job of removing it and when I absentmindedly reached in with one unsanitary index finger to oust the offending barb I accidentally, blindly pushed it deeper in. I yowled, poked, prodded and brushed and flossed, rinsed and spit.
But the hull was there to stay.
There’s something you may not know about me. Now that you know for certain that I’m a bumbling idiot I feel humbled enough to be able to tell you that I’m unusual in a rather different way. I’m one of those odd creatures that doesn’t seem to suffer from tooth decay.
So most of my life, at least in terms of dental care, has been a cake walk. Sure, I had one cavity in a tooth as a child; one filling to repair it. And out it dropped like an obedient baby tooth does when it had outlived its use. My dentist, our family dentist, from my childhood growing up in Wisconsin was practically a friend of the family. I remember looking at his ragged rows of staggered, yellow teeth and wondering if he went into dentistry to save people from his own fate. I remember the unpleasant fluoride treatments that were like an oversized boxer’s tooth guard filled with some unthinkable fruity gel. I remember pre-pubertal crushes on the dental hygienists who’d clean my teeth. There were regular x-rays, regular cleanings, regular check-ups… twice a year for much of my life.
Once I became an adult I stopped visiting my dentist with such frequency. Once every year or two seemed to be enough and he actually agreed. Then my wisdom teeth came in—or almost came in. Teeth are one of the things that sort of show how strange it is to claim that an omnipotent god made us in his image. What a mess. I was almost problem free even with my wisdom teeth though. Three came in without any problems. Ah, but that fourth managed to impact itself in my gums. It started to get infected and painful so my dentist sent me to an oral surgeon who convinced me to get rid of all four of those trouble making spare molars. Four extractions, local anesthetic and I was home with a mouthful of cotton.
In another few years I found myself living in Prague and thinking that a dentist should be part of my health plan. Insurance is pretty comprehensive and mandatory here. I pay just under $100 per month for my health insurance. A routine check-up will cost me an extra $1.50. I don’t think I’ve ever paid anything for blood or urine tests. My blood pressure medication costs about $12.00 for a three month supply.
Um, anyway, my dear reason for moving to Europe had a colleague at work whose husband’s brother was a dentist. I went to his office on the other end of the city and registered as a patient and each visit to his office was pretty much the same over the years. He was a friendly, ruddy faced, big man as I recall and it was always just a routine check-up without a professional cleaning that would always end with him calling the nurse over to have a look in my mouth. No cavities, no fillings, see you in another couple of years, Doc.
Well, my problem free streak ended last week thanks to popcorn and stupidity.
I’d been neglecting my regular dental check-ups recently. Just how neglected they were I discovered on Monday when I called the dentist’s office and spoke with the nurse who dug through their records and informed me that my last visit had been in 1999. My, how time flies.
I spoke with her about my little popcorn problem that didn’t seem to be infected, but remained somewhat painful even after several days. I told her of my suspicions that a bit of the hull had remained lodged in my gums. She however, kept interrupting me to tell me how things had changed at the office. Yes, the doctor still saw patients, but he had changed. Fifteen years is a long time and he was, well—a man of a certain age now. Just what was I expecting in terms of treatment? The doctor wasn’t doing x-rays, if I needed bridge work done I would have to go somewhere else. A check-up? a filling? a peek at that hole in your gums? He should be able to handle that, but—I’ll tell you what, we’ll make an appointment and you can see for yourself and if you decide after that that you don’t want to reregister with him we can just throw out the form and you’ll only be out the $1.50 for the visit.
Now I was just mostly curious.
I got an appointment on Wednesday and when I showed up a few minutes early the nurse turned out to be the same woman I’d remembered from fifteen years earlier. She was very apologetic that the doctor hadn’t arrived yet and repeated her concerns and warnings about how he had changed and again offered to tear-up the registration card she was filling out if I wasn’t satisfied. Turns out that once registered I’d have to remain with that doctor for a period of three months before changing.
I sat and waited for the doctor to arrive with the nurse occasionally stepping into the waiting room to apologize. An older woman, another patient came and sat across from me. I dug under the tabloid magazines for a newspaper. About half an hour later, just after the nurse had threatened to call the doctor at home to see if there was something wrong, the entrance of the dentist was heralded by the nurse crying out that he’d arrived. He’d been spied from the window, and moments later a plump, tiny woman with beautiful, snow white hair in a ponytail was pulled into the room by a tiny Chihuahua on a leash-- followed closely by a man who resembled an aged Renoir without the wheelchair or the olive trees. He was wearing a lab coat and walked hunched over nearly double with a tangled full white beard and a disturbingly blank stare behind thick-lensed glasses that he aimed at me as he passed.
The procession marched into the examination room / office and closed the door. Several minutes later the woman with the Chihuahua said she was sorry for the doctor’s late arrival as she and the dog left. Then I was called in. The dentist was seated in a chair in the corner and only rose after I’d paid the nominal fee and taken my seat in the usual dentist’s chair. He asked gruffly what the problem was and I explained, with the nurse chiming in, what had happened to my gums and my suspicions. The dentist scraped three times at a bit of plaque and poked around gently on my lower teeth for a bit and proclaimed that there was nothing there. The nurse asked if he wouldn’t mind also giving me the usual examination for cavities—had he done the upper teeth? He had, he said and sat down again.
And that was that.
The nurse even followed me into the hall afterwards because she knew how odd it had been and asked if I wouldn’t rather have her throw out the registration form. I was feeling so embarrassed and uncomfortable that I just told her I’d call her with my decision later. She told me that she’d hold the card until the end of the month. I had until then to decide.
Well, earlier today I went to a clinic near my neighborhood and waited to see a dentist as just a walk-in patient. The doctor was about my age, maybe a bit younger, gentle and professional, patient with my questions and actually spent some time in my mouth. I even got my first dental x-ray in probably 20 years. The doctor informed me that he cleaned out the hole and that I have a small portion of exposed bone that will need some time to heal over. I have an appointment for a follow-up visit at the beginning of June. I told them that I’d be registering with them then.
Oh, and that essentially emergency room visit, with the x-ray and all cost just $4.50. It’s a pretty good system.
I’ve been thinking lately that I’ve just about reached the age where it’s no longer strange if my general practitioner or dentist or other doctor that I see regularly is actually younger than I am. It’s actually something that could be advantageous. I’m hoping this new one will last longer than the last one.