Sunday, 2 June 2013

Me and My Dentist

You probably can't tell from my incredibly gorgeous(?) photos, but I have really wonky teeth.

Not only do my pegs go off in so many different directions it looks like my dentist is one of the Druids who built Stonehenge, but my front fangs are so big I live in constant fear that if I smile too much I'll be stabbed to death by Buffy.

Put it this way, even the Karma Sutra has less angles than what's in my mouth, my molars are mutated to the point even British people make fun of me, and one of my incisors is so crooked it has just been appointed to a vacancy on the Victorian Supreme Court.

My cuspids and bicuspids- not to mention homocuspids, tanscuspids and cuspids that are just experimenting- are so terrifying I once smiled at a crocodile and it started crying. (I'm pretty sure they were only crocodile tears, but you see my point.)

That's why I was distraught this week when I realised it was time for my six-monthly dental check-up, because whether it's going through customs at the airport, or going to the dentist, I live in constant fear of having my cavities checked.

 Seriously, is there any worse place on earth than sitting in a dentist's reception listening to the sound of drilling from next door?

Most of the time I don't think there is even anyone in there, I think the dentists just have a CD with all the noises on it to freak people out. "Hey, hang on, this drilling has been re-mixed by Fat Boy Slim." (Not to mention that horrible sucking noise, which sounds like either Paris Hilton has popped in, or they are making cappacino.)

Of course, it's even worse once you get into the room and realise the drill the dentist is holding is so big you are not sure whether he is about to clean your teeth, or start constructing an in-ground swimming pool. Forget the dental nurse, it looks like he should have a council worker next to him with a Stop/Slow sign.

And while we're at it, why is it that dentists feel the need to wait until your mouth is completely full with machinery and cotton wool before they strike up a conversation? It's hard to keep your cool when you sound like a cross between Sylvester Stallone and Ozzy Osbourne.

Then they ask you to spit, but by this time your mouth is so swollen all you can do is drool and slur. I'm starting to think the Swedish Chef from the Muppets wasn't Swedish at all, he had just had some major dental work.

Although I must admit the one thing I do enjoy about going to the dentist is the gas. I love that Nitrous Oxide. I wish I could just get a tank of it, strap it to my back and go to a rave. I know a lot of people only get the gas for major operations - I get it for everything, from getting my teeth cleaned to paying the bill. (Which let's face it, with the price dentists charge, is still the most painful part of the process.) In fact, I use so much gas my dentist once told me when I visited he was tempted to just fill the room with gas, and he would wear the mask.
On the upside, my fear of dentists has meant I have always taken very good care of my teeth, especially for someone who grew up in the country, where generations of systematic in-breeding had meant if you had more teeth than fingers you were pretty happy.
Pretty much the only part of my dental regime I am not very good at is flossing. Each time I visit the dentist he gives me the big speech about the importance of flossing, and each time I do it for about a week after my visit, and then for the next six months the closest I get to a floss is if I get a Snakes Alive snake caught in my teeth. Sadly this also means that like the kid who hasn't studied for his exams, when my next dentist appointment comes around I try to cram six months work into about two days, so not only do I go to the dentist with dirty teeth, but also with rope burn on my gums.

I guess at the end of the day visiting the dentist comes down to trust, and I'm sorry but I find it hard to trust someone who won't even show their face on television. Why? What do they have to hide? Are they in the Dental Relocation Program? And more importantly than all this, if dentists truly aren't allowed to show their face on TV, how soon can we get Eddie McGuire a dentistry degree?

1 comment:

  1. This blogs keeps on getting better and better and by the way Katie, where do you get all this stuff from and those genetic terms?? Kept me smiling all the way through to the end, from mutation to in-breeding! I'd love to read more of those genetic terms in the days ahead...blending theory, f1 generation, gene pool, gene flow, genetic drift, meiosis, muscular dystrophy, pangenesis, phenotype, sex-controlled gene, sex-limited gene...put all this in a paragraph with TOOTH and DENTIST as the subheading, will have this published in Nature!.

    Thanx for the laughter Katie...keep them coming!!