And that's the tooth

The Western Star

I have an enviable record with dentists.

Rather let us say I had an enviable record with dentists. Up until last week I had been to see a dentist once in 23 years. Last week made it twice.

In 1999 I went to see a dentist in Toronto, at OH's prodding, the first time I had seen a member of that lofty profession in 15 years. Despite the dire warnings of doctors, nurses and family members at the time, I didn't so much as have a cavity.

For some reason known only to angels and archangels I saw no reason dental history shouldn't repeat itself.

If my teeth were as hard as my skull and the rest of my bones (vertebrae would be an exception) for more than half my life, why couldn't they continue to render stellar service for the next half-century or so?

Consequently I allowed another eight years to go by before allowing myself the dubious pleasure of making another appointment with a medical professional dedicated to pursuing the tooth and nothing but the tooth.

I think I was hoping that even if one or more of my teeth had suffered slow decay, the art and science of dentistry would have reached new heights by now. Or is that depths? Whatever, I was foreseeing sitting in a dentist's chair - make that my chair - in leisurely comfort while he worked away somewhere on the periphery of my consciousness.

By this time, I reasoned, pain has been banished completely from the dental experience, if you don't include the bill. I could see myself halfway through a magazine article when the doctor announces that his work here is done and I have to go, and no, I can't take the magazine with me because I mightn't be back for another 10 years.

Consequently I approached the appointed hour without undue apprehension.

This fellow was also OH's dentist and I hadn't heard her make any complaints. Couldn't be too much wrong with him. But I couldn't shake the dread entirely.

As I made my way along a corridor of other dental offices, I almost relaxed completely. The door to each office was open and sounds of laughter and light banter emanated from them all.

I thought for a moment OH must have made a wrong turn and ended up at one of those houses. You know, where the welcoming red light burns brightly at all hours of the day and night. Then I realized Grand Falls/Windsor would never tolerate that kind of enterprise, unless the mill closed completely, of course. Even then, the doors to each room wouldn't have all been open.

Wouldn't take a lot of work to convert the building, though. Thought I might mention that to the dentist in case teeth went out of style, or all dropped out of our mouths due to global warming or something.

The doctor himself was a friendly young fellow with a friendly female assistant. I was half-expecting him to ask me to open my mouth so when he did I was all ready. He poked around a bit and decided to take some X-rays. I was used to the results of X-rays having been through that process already, some eight years ago. No cavities, piece of cake.

I was about to learn that 'no cavities' and 'piece of cake' didn't necessarily belong together as phrases. In fact, the terms were mutually exclusive. My 23-year honeymoon period with the dentistry profession was about to come to a crashing end.

The assistant sat down and took out a notebook and pen. How bad must it be if a dentist couldn't remember a couple of fillings? My morale began rapidly picking up speed as it plunged toward the bottom of wherever morals go when they're headed in the wrong direction.

My friend the dentist - I began to suspect we'd be together long enough to become at least strong acquaintances - started rhyming off instructions to the young woman with the pen. Very little of it meant anything to me except when he'd say, "Small cavity in @$% & #", or "Cavity in & #%@$."

Actually I wasn't too upset with that. Lord, a man had to have a few cavities scattered over a quarter century, right? I came to my taps when he nonchalantly tossed out in the same tone of voice, "Root canal."

Now I've heard of root canals. To me they carry the same connotations as "body dismemberment" and "gum replacement." In my tormented imagination, a sign immediately appears over the office door, Little Shop of Horrors. "Root canal" is synonymous with pain and nightmares.

Then I remember OH talking about root canals she's had.

"Nothing to them," she says. "I fell asleep during the last root canal I had."

I am immediately cheered, until I remember back to our college days when for fun we used to see who could stand the most pain. We had a strange idea of fun back then and that's not the half of it. Whatever, OH invariably won. She would let someone hold a lighted cigarette so close to her skin that the flesh would turn red. She seemed totally immune to pain.

OH isn't the person to recommend an absence of pain.

So I have to see my friend the dentist again, and again and probably again. What I'll probably wind up doing is asking for a copy of the bill in advance and holding it in front of me during the procedure. Perhaps consciousness of one pain will cancel out the other.

Remember that Johnny Horton song, "Every doggie has his day, every puppy has to pay, everybody has to meet his Waterloo?"

Ride on, Napoleon, I'm coming right behind you.

Readers can contact Ed Smith by e-mail at edsmith@persona.ca or by mail at 4 Brinex Ave., Springdale, NL, AOJ ITO.