My Experience at the Dental Clinic

Driven both by my perpetual desire to find a good deal and my actual broke-ness this year, and, even more than both of those things, by some dear friends and my hypochondria, I made an appointment at the dental clinic. 

I was enjoying an annual Christmas brunch several months ago with a family full of dear friends. Well, our family full of dear friends is intimately connected to the dental profession. Days before, I’d noticed a little white spot on my gum. Diana thought it looked like the spot that resulted in her root canal. Her sister and mom, both hygienists, agreed that I’d better have it x-rayed (especially since I haven't seen a dentist in years). They didn’t tell me to panic—I did that on my own. I mean, I’m uber-poor, as I said, and I had no idea how much root canals cost! They could be ten thousand dollars, for all I know!

Fast-forward to January and my first appointment at the dental clinic. After four hours and my student-doctor not showing up, I had gotten almost nothing done and had to schedule another appointment. This week they finished all the work and cleaned my teeth, after almost another four hours, for not that much money.

I’m very frugal and very broke, as I mentioned before. However, I’m not really sure that the savings was worth it. My student-doctor was as nice as can be; we chatted for a long time while we were in line for x-rays. He was young and we had a nice time. However: he was young. And boy, he slaughtered my gums. The hygienist and periodontist  and regular old dentist who checked his work felt like experienced surgeons, like angels touching my teeth with fairy dust, by contrast. He did this weird perio-probe to see if my gums were a 2 or a 3 or a 4. I have never heard of a regular old dentist doing that. It involved a lot of digging down into my gums. (I mean, he also took my blood pressure and my pulse, which no other dentist has ever done.)

Then he cleaned my teeth. This involved a cavitron, something I’ve never heard of (again, I've never seen a regular old dentist use this machine). He told me there was a lot of water involved. It was actually a lot like a shower or drowning. I don’t particularly like going under water (I do like being in the water, though!). The water from his tool was shooting under my glasses, smearing my mascara. It was shooting up my nose, and down my chin, and around my neck. I was basically holding my breath for 20 minutes. But, he told me, at least he wasn’t cleaning my teeth by hand, because the dentists call that a blood bath. Holy goodness!

I could tell what he meant by blood bath when he finished up the cleaning by hand. I was really bleeding a lot. The hygienist suggested that maybe I don’t floss, since I was bleeding so much. Lady, I floss! It’s just that he was repeatedly stabbing my gums with a small sword as I squirmed underneath him. My gums definitely came out bruised and battered. 

Oh, and my dentist had never seen grafts before (I have three on my teeth). When he saw mine, he asked me if they were always infected and bubbly like that. I was shocked and scared. I had never noticed them being infected, but maybe I just hadn't checked lately! When the other head doctors came over to take a look, they said that my grafts look great (Diana--you should pass that on to your dad!). Later, my dentist admitted that he had never seen a graft before. 

On a positive note, he said that my teeth are in great shape, especially for not having been to a dentist in, I don’t know, three or so years. No cavities! No need for a root canal! Plus, it gave me a lot of opportunity to tell myself that it doesn’t hurt because I’m a strong woman!

From the coffee shop after the dental appointment. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to drink coffee after that experience, but everything seems to be working alright.