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Who was that masked dentist?
I’ve found that after the fact, going to the dentist can be pretty funny. Getting to the funny part can be problematic, however.
Last month I had a wisdom tooth extracted. It turned out to be no big deal and it proved to be a minimally painful experience overall.
Unfortunately, though, it wasn’t the only dental procedure on my dance card. Once I had healed from the wisdom tooth extraction, I was signed up for something called “root planing.”
If you do not know what this is, I will spare you the details of this particular torture method. I will say, though, that I am confident that if former Vice President Dick Cheney had known about “root planing,” I’m pretty sure that he would have told the boys at the CIA to forget that sissy water boarding stuff and go directly to the nearest dentist for briefing and training.
Oddly enough, I had experienced root planing once before, about 25 years ago, and I already knew it wasn’t going to a day at the beach.
Naturally, I showed up 10 minutes early to the dentist’s office, because one always wants to be early for a procedure that involves sharp dental implements being jabbed into the soft tissue inside one’s mouth.
Still, the dentist and his assistant were somewhat busy, enough so that I dozed off a bit in the waiting room chair as I waited for my number to be up.
“You can come back now,” said the dental assistant, who had noticed me napping in the lobby. “Maybe you’ll be more comfortable in the exam room chair.”
Huh? You think I’m going to be more comfortable in the very same chair in which Zorro The Dentist is going to assault me with various swords? Surely you jest?
That comment by the dental assistant didn’t become humorous to me until well after the fact.
A couple of days later, when the pain and swelling went away, I looked inside my mouth. I thought I saw a Z carved into my gums.
Here is the fun part: I only had root planing on the lower teeth. I have to go back again next month to have the same procedure done on the upper teeth.
I don’t think I’m going to show up early for that one.
Last month I had a wisdom tooth extracted. It turned out to be no big deal and it proved to be a minimally painful experience overall.
Unfortunately, though, it wasn’t the only dental procedure on my dance card. Once I had healed from the wisdom tooth extraction, I was signed up for something called “root planing.”
If you do not know what this is, I will spare you the details of this particular torture method. I will say, though, that I am confident that if former Vice President Dick Cheney had known about “root planing,” I’m pretty sure that he would have told the boys at the CIA to forget that sissy water boarding stuff and go directly to the nearest dentist for briefing and training.
Oddly enough, I had experienced root planing once before, about 25 years ago, and I already knew it wasn’t going to a day at the beach.
Naturally, I showed up 10 minutes early to the dentist’s office, because one always wants to be early for a procedure that involves sharp dental implements being jabbed into the soft tissue inside one’s mouth.
Still, the dentist and his assistant were somewhat busy, enough so that I dozed off a bit in the waiting room chair as I waited for my number to be up.
“You can come back now,” said the dental assistant, who had noticed me napping in the lobby. “Maybe you’ll be more comfortable in the exam room chair.”
Huh? You think I’m going to be more comfortable in the very same chair in which Zorro The Dentist is going to assault me with various swords? Surely you jest?
That comment by the dental assistant didn’t become humorous to me until well after the fact.
A couple of days later, when the pain and swelling went away, I looked inside my mouth. I thought I saw a Z carved into my gums.
Here is the fun part: I only had root planing on the lower teeth. I have to go back again next month to have the same procedure done on the upper teeth.
I don’t think I’m going to show up early for that one.
Labels: Dentist, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
posted by Mike Morsch at
9:30 PM
3 Comments:
Great column. I still hate going to the dentist. When I was 25, I had my wisdom teeth taken out. The dentist ended up cracking my jaw, which was unknown until 3 days later when I woke up and looked like Don Zimmer in the dugout(chewing tobacco). I had to go to an oral surgeon to get it fixed. I love your columns....keep them comin'.
Great column!!
Might be more fun as a do-it-yourself procedure. See if you can make an "M" ;-)
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