The Dentist

“Don’t forget your toothbrush,” was usually my final reminder after “hope you packed enough underwear” whenever I left for a trip to any place that was more than 5 miles from home!  I think of this because my son and his family are taking a weekend away…and then I think of the dentist.

When I became old enough to brush by myself my mother seemed to be obsessed with my teeth.  I started did the standard routine of brushing in the morning and before bed that lasted for the next 70+ years.  She saved all of my “baby teeth” and kept them in the metal file box under her bed that preserved all of her important papers, certificates and paid bills - apparently they were for the Calvin Museum when I became famous. (Fame for me was one of her expectations for my future).  When the last of my “milk-teeth” was snacthed from under my pillow by the tooth fairy her concern increased to preserve my second set of permanent chippers.  She regularly warned me that candy would “rot” my teeth - especially chocolate bars which was a constant kid need for me and my gang. I think this was partly due to the fact that my grandmother put her teeth in a jar of water when she went to bed.  My mother many times reinforced the fact that Nanny had not teeth but she had “her own teeth” and did so until her earthly brushing were done. I was glad she didn't have someone else's teeth.

When most of my second teeth were in place she started taking me to the dentist every six months, another habit I continue as I course through my journey.  And I dreaded this day - the appointment was circled on our kitchen calendar so we wouldn’t forget.

Dr. Abrams was the maven of pain. His office was above the “5 & 10” store on High street - Millville’s downtown.  We always had an appointment on a Saturday afternoon which canceled my weekly double feature at the movies - this made it even more depressing.  I say we because she always attended my tortures and waited for a report on my oral cavity condition.  To get to Dr. A’s office we had to climb a creaking ancient stairway of foot-worn steps which was for me a “dead man walking” occasion akin to the movie that gave me the creeps.  Over the years since I remember the smell - which all medical facilities seem to have - a combination of the aroma of alcohol and waxed floors.  My first sniff made me start to sweat.

Making matters worse Dr. A always greeted us like long lost relatives.  He bubbled over with joy and always remarked - “Marge, Calvin has grown a foot since last time - ho ho ho.  And behind him I could see in his antiseptic dungeon the chair of doom with it’s many gadgets surrounding it. Once I settled into the chair went up down up again and then back the doc began to poke my teeth with a metal hook.  I waited literally with “baired breath” to hear him sigh “Oh My.”  This sent shivers because he found a cavity.  I could her Mom mutter “Oh no…”  And I wondered if she said that because of my condition or she was thinking that my bi-annual visit fee just went “ca-ching”.  Dr inserted a six inch long needle in my gums and in a minute the whole side of my head was numb and drool started running down my chin.  He handed me a tissue and stared the filling that would save me from my grandma’s fate.  He lowered a complicated arm that drove the drill and jammed something in my mouth to keep it open which immediately triggered the gag reflex. (Today’s dentist use a high speed self contained device in my early days this was a mini-version of an oil well drill that was powered by a humming set of pulleys and springs.  And the grinding sound began accompanied by the scent of something on fire…this finally induced a slight need to faint.  What really got me was that he hummed during the whole process with a learning glint in his eye - he enjoyed his work.  He also narrated each step everytime I endured one of his mining expeditions well into my late teens.  When he proudly announced that he was forcing “real silver” into the whole I knew the end was near - and not too soon.  My face would be dumb for another hour or two.  Mom always bought me an ice cream sunday before we went home.  And she always told me that the “slight discomfort” was for my own good.  Looking back I believe now that she was right.

I don’t keep my teeth in a glass when I retire for the night.