Patient, dentist have special relationship

My dentist and I have a love/hate relationship. He loves to get my money and I hate going to him.

But other than that, we get along fairly well. He’s young enough to be my son, but then so are 99.5 percent of all the males I know. So I don’t hold that against him. In fact, outside of his office, I like him a lot.

Once I was in Starbucks drinking a latte which was about one third sugar (my choice), and he came in. We sat together, and I was praying he couldn’t tell the sugar content of my drink. But, God was on my side – he didn’t. We had fun. As I remember, we laughed a lot. I also remember being a little surprised at how much I liked him.

Well, he laughs a lot in his office, too. By himself, need I add. How can I laugh?

My mouth is usually full of cotton or his fist or saliva tinged with blood. Besides, at that moment, I don’t usually think there is a single funny thing in this world.

About twice a year he tells me I am a “near stoic.” Whom does he think he’s fooling?

Does a near stoic have trembling hands? Sweaty face? Occasional tears? But later, I must confess, sometimes I am kind of thrilled to think he believes I am a near stoic.

If he does.

Once I had an experience in a dentist’s office I will never forget. He probably won’t, either, as I never went back to him. He was trying to deaden all around a tooth that was going to be drilled, and he couldn’t get it dead enough. So he more or less said, “To hell with it,” and started drilling on the tooth. I have never hurt so much.

When it was over, I paid for his work, they gave me a little plastic sack full of crushed ice, and I clutched it to my mouth and drove home. When I got there, I lay on the sofa, groaning, moaning and kind of sobbing – and my sweet old dumb dog was beside himself. He, too, moaned and kind of sobbed, and I knew for sure dogs have empathy as well as love. I don’t think I know a single person who would have been as upset as he was. It gives one pause for thought, doesn’t it?

Teeth do affect one’s life. I was eating biscotti one day and a piece of it (I thought) flew across the room. “Oh, well,” I thought, and kept on eating. But then there wasn’t a tooth where there had been one five minutes before. And suddenly I knew. It wasn’t a piece of biscotti that sailed across the room; it was my tooth! I have never eaten biscotti since. And never will.

Quite often I am told I have beautiful teeth. I don’t know whether to graciously accept the compliment and change the subject or confess I haven’t a single tooth that doesn’t have a cap or a crown. If I had the money I’ve spent on my teeth, I’d be able to buy a Lexus every five or 10 years. But, then, who wants to be a show-off. Especially when I no longer drive.

I had a dental hygienist once who told me she flossed for 12 minutes every night.

Seeing I am doing well to do it for one minute – if at all – I was somewhat impressed, but not too much. I mean, is there anything more boring than flossing?

A woman I know advised me to do it while I was in the bathtub, but seeing I take only showers, I ignored her advice. There are lots of things I liked about life in the earlier years, and one is that there was no such thing as flossing.

This may surprise you but I always take my dentist a Christmas gift. I mean, isn’t it the spirit of good will and is it his fault I have bad teeth? Besides, he is very good to his old mother, and that counts a lot with me.

Especially now.