Dentist - Behind The Mask

Routine cleaning day at the ole dentist. I wanted to get one more debit from my dental plan before it expired at the end of this month. The dentist (or should I say receptionist) was most accommodating in 'squeezing me in' before my departure this Sunday. I promptly arrived for my appointment a few minutes early. After the usual 'oh it's nice to see you'....'how have you been?'.....'you're moving where?'......'oh that's terrific'....my number was finally up. The hygienist escorted me back to the room. As we moved down the hallway I was taken back when I noticed what I thought to be a spike covered bull whip hanging out from her left pant leg and the outline of a tightly strewn S&M outfit under her Kermit the frog scrubs. I figured this was part of the act and I'd let it go for now.

First things first. Let's check the gums. Whomever invented this procedure had only their gums to worry about as I'm sure the first person they did this test on immediately kicked their teeth out as a 'thank you' for the gum check. The test involves taking a rusted out ole crook of wire attached to an iron handle and smashing it with force into your gums to see how far they pull away from your teeth. You are then scored on a sliding scale from 1-5 (1 being the best and 5 being GUM DISEASE). Each tooth is prodded 6 different times (3 in the front gum, 3 in the back). The scores are then shouted out by the hygienist to a waiting assistant where the numbers are entered into a computerized scoring matrix (simultaneously the same numbers are used by the patients in the waiting area to complete the daily sudoku in the Coloradoan). Once the numbers are entered the assistant leaves and the results are reported. The matrix indicated that "your gums are healthier now than they were a year ago" to which I responded, "great, next time I come in why don't you just have the receptionist bust my face open with a seven iron when I come through the door. Bloodshed will be the same, we can skip the whole poking thing, and we'll all save everyone a little time!"

Next step: pick and clean teeth to prepare for polishing. At this point the assistant is gone and it's just me and the hygienist mono a mono. I'm reminded of the fact that any shout for help will be muffled by the puddle of blood pooling in the back of my throat, and that if I want to leave here outside of a body bag I should just "sit still". I'm handed a 'tube' that has vacum like properties that is to be used to drain my mouth as the assistant rinses blood from my gums while picking at any tarter or plaque. At this point pain has numbed my entire upper body and my face looks like some sort of tribal bush mask used in hunting ceremonies in the Serengeti.

Time to polish and shine. I really don't know why this part of the visit is referred to as a polish. The only thing that gets shined in this ordeal is the blood splatters on the chin bib as the hygienist's latex hands move across them in a circular fashion. "All done!" as she hands me a mirror...."How's it look?".......great if I were a prize fighter and just completed a 10 round draw with the champ. "Terrific! Great!" I mumble.

Enter the doc. After some light chit chat (to which my mouth and continued bleeding didn't allow me to participate in) it was time for the doc to mask up, throw on the latex gloves and take a look inside. As he moved from tooth to tooth not really doing anything I thought to myself, "what exactly am I paying him for". Every time I've ever been to the dentist it's the same routine. Act 1 - Hygienist and assistant punish and torture you with pokes, punches, and mechanical polishers. Act 2- Token male comes in, pokes around a bit, asks about how you're doing personally, tells you your teeth are ok and then gives you a tooth brush and some floss as if to say "I'm sorry you won't be able to eat solid food for a week, but maybe this $0.40 toothbrush and $0.20 travel paste will persuade you to come back in 6 months where we'll trick you out of more of your dental insurance premiums yet again". Today wasn't going to be that easy for the doc though. I needed to know......

"So, doc, I must admit, I like your practice, I think you do a lot for the community, I'll continue to come here when I get back to the states, but I have to know, what the hell is the point of whatever it is you do when you come in to check on us after the cleaning?"

The doc looked at me gasping for breathe! I could hear the hygienist moving in on the scene. The record stopped in the lobby to which came "We've got a live one, GET THE GAS!"

I didn't waiver. I sat there cool and collected. Blood spilling from my mouth as I reared back to defend myself from the initial attack.

Puzzled, the doctor responded, "I don't believe anyone has ever asked me that before".

I knew now that I was done for sure. Kill or be killed. As I made a motion towards the x-ray machine, prepared to pump the evil hygienist full of radiation, the doctor called off the hounds.

"Truth be told, for someone like you, I don't really do too much. You have healthy teeth and no real structural issues". Buttering me up I thought. I'm not taking my eyes off you yet...... "What I'm mainly looking for are small changes in your teeth that may signify larger problems. For example last year when you were in here I noticed no noticeable stains on your teeth. I noted that on your chart because it's something I like to check for, cosmetically and for other health reasons. This time, there was a small dark stain on one of your back molars. I removed it rather easily. I've noted that so we can look at it again next time. Additionally, I wanted to inspect your gums. I see they've improved over last time and I wanted to make a mental note of that. Do you have any other questions?"

I began to relax, satisfied by the response. As my blood pressure returned to normal I felt a little bad about the x-ray gun I had ripped from the wall mount, and the broken over head lamp that I used as a catapult to extend my arsenal's reach. But, as I helped the doctor right the electric patient chair which I had overturned and used to barricade myself in the back corner of the room, a sense of happiness came over me. I felt relieved that the system worked. The doctors job is to take care of and care for their patients. If that comes in the form of an overzealous S&M dominatrix spilling two units of your blood across a carpeted floor on a Friday by repeatedly bashing you in the face with a metal sawzall while laughing hysterically then that's what it takes. Doctor knows best.