Teething

 

The only thing harder than changing doctors is changing dentists, but I think I have to do it.

I had the same dentist for years and years until I noticed that his regular glasses were thicker than the ones he put on to do dental work. Even at seventy two years old, he was an artist when it came to caps and fillings, but his eye sight and age made me nervous.

So about ten years ago, I changed to a new dentist. He was a young man with a new practice and shiny new machines. He did an adequate job, but there was always something unsatisfactory. Little things mostly, like the fillings being a shade off white or the new style of chair that requires more laying down than sitting. His state of the art equipment did not include a spit sink. I miss spitting.

He always has a different dental hygienist and office team. Is he hard to work for or does he cut costs by hiring inexperienced employees?

But worst of all, he had a water feature in his waiting room.

Water features, including fountains, pools, or that never ending trickle that circulates through plastic-stone pieces are apparently very relaxing to some people. They drive me crazy. It's like a dripping faucet. How can that relax anybody?

He's done other trendy things to make customers feel welcome like provide tea, a surprise box filled with dollar store prizes for adults, and one year he had a paraffin warmer that you dipped your hands in for a digital version of a facial. It left my hands silky smooth, but I couldn't stop wondering about how well bacteria grew in this communal pot. Every year it was something new. Nothing like surprises at a dentist's office.

But last year things took an annoying turn. He said I needed a mouth piece to stop from grinding my teeth. I was surprised then, and eighteen months later, I'm still surprised. After over fifty years of having teeth, all of a sudden I started grinding them? I told him that I couldn't sleep with something in my mouth. That should have been the end of it.

No, this year he told me that I probably was grinding my teeth because I wasn't sleeping well. Sleep apnea is deadly, and he assured me that a mouth piece would save my heart.

(It would solve the problem of me getting any kind of sleep at all.)

He was very concerned about how the lack of a mouth piece was threatening my life. The only way to know for sure if I had sleep apnea was a sleep study. He gave me a sleep questionnaire and a brochure from a sleep clinic. Although I only answered yes to one of the many questions, the sleep clinic followed up with junk mail to my home.

Somewhere between the water fountain and the free egg turner, he lost my trust. Now he is getting all trendy with sleep clinics and thousand dollar mouth pieces.

Good eyesight isn't everything. I wonder if my old dentist would take me back?

Nancy Sherer

 

 


Copyright 1997 - 2010

SalmonRiverPublishing
All rights reserved