If one determines one's best friends based on the amount of time spent with them, then surely my dentist ranks right after the husband and the dog. Last year, I got a crown, two onlays, two fillings and a root canal. There would have been more, but at a certain point even the generous benefits plan from the husband's soul-sucking job begins to buckle at the seams.
The problems began... well, at my conception, really. Sometimes I feel cursed genetically. If there is a medical issue on either side of my family, I seem to have gotten it. I have a sneaking suspicion that somewhere within me lurks a renegade prostate, waiting to cause bewildering problems in my middle age.
One of my genetic blessings was apparently crappy teeth. My husband will attest that I take good care of my teeth. I floss regularly. Yes, I have a sweet tooth, but I also have mouthwash in my desk at work, so shouldn't the two balance out? Apparently not - just ask my dentists, of which there are many.
The absolute worst was the first dentist that I picked out myself, in the town where we currently reside. The husband and I had moved for my job, and he was still unemployed. I stupidly thought that since I had no mouth pain, I must have no mouth problems, and I didn't sign up for the expensive dental insurance I was offered. But this dentist not only informed me that I was on the verge of a mouth apocalypse, but would also tell me that any pain she inflicted on me was "good for getting ready for childbirth" or "nothing compared to childbirth". I got some fillings and one very expensive crown from her, and vowed never to say no to dental and never to go to a dentist who was openly thinking about my womb.
After her came my current dentist, the aforementioned best friend. I feel confident about his ongoing plans for fixing all my mouth problems, though I will say that he insanely slow. And he seems to think that I see him so often because I want to be there, like he works at the corner pub or something. He'll tell me about new equipment that the office gets, or talk to me about the town library, or whatever, when honestly, stepping into the door of that place makes me grumpy and irrational and generally unfit for conversation. They have tvs in each of the dental cubicles, and my usual appointment time is during the Gilmore Girls on ABC Family. And all I want to do is seethe silently about how I never remember to put lip chap on even though I always need it after the first hour of holding my mouth open and how lame all of Rory's boyfriends are, and he's all "So what percentage of the town library's budget do you think comes from fines?"
But he hasn't mentioned childbirth once, so my teeth and I will continue our visits until the benefits run dry or my mouth is fixed, whichever comes first.
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