About 2 months ago, a large chunk of one of my molars came off the worse for its encounter with a Curly-Wurly. So I went looking for a dentist, having unfortunately left my perfectly delightful and amazingly talented one back in France when we moved to Oyreland. A colleague recommended the new surgery only a block away, and an appointment was made. By email, what’s more, how very modern!
I would like to say, before I launch into my storytelling, that on a purely medical level, I am quite satisfied with her work, and that none of what I am about to tell you has anything to do with her dentistry skills.
However, it must be noted that she is a very strange young woman. Well, for a start, she is a young woman! So young she makes me feel terribly old. I guess there has to be a time in your life when the medical professionals treating you will be younger than you, rather than older and wiser. Let’s call it the Dougie Howser Point. It hurts.
So, what makes this lovely young dentist so strange? Well, basically, she’s a bit too much like me, personality-wise, and that’s not good. Especially for a dentist. She tends to say weird things that make people* a little uncomfortable, that good old Too Much Information Syndrome. Not just that usual dentist thing of asking you questions you can’t answer because they have half a cutlery set shoved in your mouth, no this is quite different. A few of my favourites are as follow:
“Isn’t it weird that I really love that smell of burning?” (coming from the temporary filling being baked in my mouth with that funny UV stick thingy)
“I really get a kick out of cleaning people’s teeth, isn’t that strange?”
“Right, I’ve cleaned around the cavity now, do you want to have a look at the decay before I clean it out, it’s lovely and black and squishy…”
“I’ve been reading a lot of vampire books recently, you know, the stories are often pretty basic, but there’s plenty of blood, that’s all that counts eh!”
“Aw, now come on, you barely flinched when I stuck that first injection in, you could at least pretend that that hurt. (she shoves another injection in, this time it does hurt and I wince) Ah, that’s better! Thanks, even if you were pretending!”
That’s just my choice selection, if I was to list all the crazy stuff she entertained me with over our 2 month relationship I could go on for pages. My crown was finally fitted yesterday (“Now I’m just going to pop it on the tooth to make sure it fits ok, don’t go swallowing it or I’ll have to make you throw up!”) and I left with a lovely doggybag: the mouldings that had been taken of my teeth to make the crown from. “There you go,” she said, “take them home with you. You can paint them if you like.” o_Ô
But maybe the strangest thing of all, is that when she’s not saying strange things while rooting around in my mouth, I actually quite like her! I mean, if she wasn’t performing denstistation on me at the time, I would quite enjoy her quirky conversation. And yet, I’m always reminded of this little gem from The Little Shop Of Horrors, and I begin to hum.