I went to the dentist today, and I can still taste the fluoride that they slathered on my teeth. You know, I wonder if anyone else has that awful feeling that sits in your stomach when you finally realize on the car ride there that you just know that you didn’t do well dentally. I am aware of what I did; I haven’t flossed for the past week. Sue me! I don’t have any food stuck in between my teeth! Every dentist visit involves having to stagger in to the office, even though you never have wanted to and would just love to get away, because you are on your way to go to the dentist.
Inside, there is the overwhelming latex glove smell, that hits you by surprise. And then there is a waiting room, which holds captive a large array of magazines dating back to 1993. They are meant as pacifiers, to prevent any thought of how long it takes to be called in. Also falling under this position, there is a TV that will only play reruns of Disney channel sitcoms, meant for the younger folks who will fall prey to that flytrap. And I am not describing a singular location. This is everywhere in America. Really. It is.
Once the nurse calls your name, there is always that debate on whether you should stand up and blindly follow the path to the end of your own path, or rush out and try to escape. There is always a little more liking on my end to the latter of the two, and that is always the preference of America, although since I am under age to start a car and drive away, I have to stick with the other. I love the nurses and dentists of the place we go; they are a wonderful group of people who sure know their stuff when it comes to teeth. But, that adds in not a single change in the sense that going to the dentist is horrifying, and the sound of the plaque cleaner will forever haunt my mind.
When you finally sit in the seat, it is as if you are accepting that fate that is falling before you. Giving in. Letting yourself loose to the possession of a different kind. Then they roll up their scary array of dental tools (all of which are due to fester in your nightmares the following night). I swear, the noise that hook makes when it scrapes your teeth is one of the most disturbing things I have ever heard. Then they do that X-Ray of your teeth, one of the thing I will never understand and never will rightly care as long as it doesn’t hurt me. And then they brush your teeth with that odd spinning toothbrush. I can’t stand those things, for I have sensitive teeth and it emits quite a peculiar feeling.
Leaving the dentist is always a good feeling. Freedom is unleashed at that point in time. You are a bird that is taking off, only to soar back 6 months later to repeat the experience.
I have never liked the dentist, for almost every time I exit I am riddled with bad news, such as a cavity, due for an orthodontist appointment, bad teeth, all of that jazz. Oh well. But I actually do have a cavity. Dang it.