So I’ve got a dentist appointment in a couple of weeks.  I tend to use the same approach with my dentist appointments as I did with my college courses when I was in school.  I start off with my syllabus outlining all the things I need to read, study, and learn at various points during the term, and I tell myself I will keep up with all the materials–read the suggested reading each week, start my research paper weeks before it’s due, make up my study flash cards along the way and start going over them before the night before the test.  I honestly have the very best intentions.

But I’m a crammer, you see.  I’m convinced I was just born that way.  So inevitably I find myself the night before my dentist appointment brushing, flossing, gargling, swishing, rinsing and repeating like a madwoman.  And still somehow my hygienist knows that I’m not a regular flosser.  Is she clairvoyant?  Are my raw, bleeding gums really that much of a giveaway?

Actually, I’m a crammer and a liar because when they ask if I’m a flosser, I always say yes, but then I try to buffer it a bit with something like “Well, I could do a lot better–I’m not like religious about it.”  See, I’m more of an Easter/Christmas mass attender than the weekly Sabbath Day observer.  And by that, I mean I floss when I think there’s something stuck in my teeth or when I have a dentist appointment.  (I wonder how many “Hail Marys” you have to say to be absolved of gingivitis.  Or is it “Hell Mary”?  I don’t know–I’m not Catholic.)

But hey, I’ve got two weeks, so if I start flossing today then when my dentist appointment rolls around I’ll have these beautiful pink, but not too pink, plump, but not swollen, healthy-looking gums and I’ll be able to honestly say I’m a bonafide daily flosser because if it only takes two weeks to form a habit that could be considered an accurate description, eh?

I know the world is chock full o’ people who don’t enjoy the dentist, and I find myself firmly rooted (ha!–see what I did there?  root?  tooth?  dentist?)  in this camp.  I blame the first dentist I had (that I can remember at least).  His name was Dr. Milton Daniels (and no, I have not changed his name to protect the innocent guilty–that’s his actual name, at least I think it is unless I’m remembering it wrong).  Anyway, he was a terrible dentist, and not in the usual “all dentists suck because hey, they’re dentists and nobody likes dentists” kind of way, but in an “I have actual, undisputable proof of his sucktitude” kind of way.

My reasons are threefold:

1.  He was gross.  He spit when he talked, and this was before the day when dentists regularly wore masks.  Or maybe dentists have always worn masks and he just blatantly disregarded this practice, in which case that just strengthens my case.

2.  He was rude.  He often told me how terrible my teeth looked.  Mind you, I am the first to admit that my teeth are not the ideal pearly whites everyone dreams of–I have gap issues, but they’re not crooked or deranged.  I have a very vivid memory of him saying to me, after suggesting an orthodontic consulation to my mother yet again, “You have a pretty face, but those teeth.”

3.  He was insane.  One time I went in for a routine filling, and instead of giving me a shot of novacaine, he stuck a clothespin on my ear.  He said there was some new study out that suggested that pinching the ear dulled the nerve along the jaw or whatever, and that it should work just as well as the drugs.  The hell it did.  But I was only like 11 at the time and not terribly assertive, so I just sat there and suffered while images of Laurence Olivier from Marathon Man ran through my mind.  It’s not safe!  It’s not safe!

Well, I better go not floss now.

Do you have any dental horror stories to share?