We all know the value of good dental hygiene, like most of the parts in our body, it is always better to look after everything while we can, safeguarding their longevity and making our life a little easier in our latter years.
This week I had to attend a dentist appointment for my six-month check-up and teeth clean.
Now there are certain things in life that I find enjoyable, and unfortunately, I cannot say going to my dentist is one of those sought after enjoyments.
I must explain that this reluctance is not brought about by the trained dentist that is peering into my mouth but more to do with my inability to enjoy the perceived pain.
My dear wife and her headstrong daughters take great enjoyment out of my so-called fear of going to the dentist.
We tend to disagree on the word fear, I much prefer to call it a reluctance to appear in the dentist chair.
In my defence, I try to explain some of the reasons why I don’t enjoy going to the dentist.
Too much time waiting before the appointment, my time is valuable, the dentist’s chair is uncomfortable, not wide enough for me to feel safe lying on, worrying that I could fall off and injure one of my nearly new knees, or that the light directed into my mouth is too bright, the sunglasses they supply are not fashionable or that the posters on the ceiling are unreadable without my glasses.
All valid explanations, I feel, on why one doesn’t enjoy the dentist appointment.
But my immediate family lacks the compassion for my discomfort, and I believe they quite enjoy watching my tension grow as the appointment draws closer.
At this point, I need to explain that the dentists that I have attended have all been great, greeting you with respect, true professionals that explain what they will be doing during the visit.
They point out that if there is any discomfort during the procedure that I can call a stop and have a spell.
This is usually when my confidence in surviving this appointment tends to go south.
My current dentist is a polite and professional young lady, and I wonder what she would think if I was able to take up her offer and say “stop”.
Would she, like my wife, look at me and roll her eyes and call me a sook, and point their belief that all men have a low pain threshold, and in my wife’s cynical voice pointing out “it’s not as if you’re going to give birth” so harden up.
In my case, there are times when I believe pain is tolerable, but I reckon the discomfort I feel from those wire and metal things sticking into my gums is not one of them.
Then the dreaded drill, when the dentist uses that slow-moving high-vibration drill in my mouth.
I have never taken the time to try and look at this implement before it enters my mouth, and maybe I should.
It might make me a little less wary when it starts is slow whine.
But I believe this drill looks something like those large, aggressive hardened steel teeth that are on the drill bits that are used on drilling holes in our earth.
At least that is what they feel like when the dentist’s drill hits my teeth.
Now I think that feeling is what nightmares are made of.
The half-hour spent sitting under the gaze of the dentist seems to take about three hours and I try to drift off and think of how I could hit a better tennis serve, hoping that I can get through without wincing or shedding a tear.
Knowing full well that at the dinner table tonight my low pain threshold and fear of the dentist will be the point of discussion.
