Dizzy at the Dentist

Time for a dental check-up yesterday. Off I trot into town for an 11.30 appointment. The dentist I attend is a rare breed of NHS and until a couple of years ago Iused to see the same lady dentist. She was very agreeable until she went off to have a baby. She came back briefly, then went off to have another baby and hasn't come back since, but I suppose with two small children, being a dentist comes pretty low on her list of priorities. I remember thinking at the time, 'This is typical. It's just like hairdressers. You just find one you like, then they clear off and you have to start all over again with someone new.'

A man dentist appeared. He was okay. He said, 'Everything is fine, just a bit of calculus at the back of your bottom front teeth to rake out.' I said, 'I do floss,' because I was affronted that I had been infiltrated by calculus given my dental hygiene obsession, and he said, 'It's minimal. I wouldn't lose any sleep over it.'

I didn't like his flip attittude. I wanted a sticker saying 'I'm a flosser,' or something of that ilk, like kids these days get for being good about brushing.


My next checkup was cancelled by the surgery via postcard with the note, 'Please contact surgery to rebook your appointment.'

I thought, 'I know what this means. It means that man dentist has been too flip in his attitude towards regular flossers and has been moved on, so they're in the process of getting someone to replace him.' I hoped against hope that the nice lady dentist would return, having got fed up with her small, screaming babies, dried up rusk on her clothes and being woken at 3 am for a 'game of dinosaurs.'


But no. I arrived yesterday to be introduced to another man dentist who looked like Dougie Howser MD, i.e about 12 years old. Immediately, I discovered he was no good at eye contact, delivering his 'Hello, what can I do for you today? at my right shoulder.


We established I was in for a checkup and I sat in the chair. He pressed the recline button and within seconds my head was lower than my feet and the blood was rushing to my ears. No bib either, for catching dribble later. He began his business with the count-down, count-up thing that they do, a kind of role call for teeth.


Now, when I was ten years old, my dentist at the time, a Mr Baker, decided that I needed a brace. He said, 'You have very big teeth in a very small mouth. You can either have a brace or four teeth removed in order to relieve the overcrowding.' Mr Baker was 8 feet tall and 6 feet wide. His surgery was full of antiquated equipment that wouldn't have looked out of place in a mediaeval torture chamber, although the room did look out on a lovely garden, which was mildly calming in times of chair gripping panic. Being small I didn't feel I could argue with Mr Baker (and you didn't argue with adults in those days), and being grateful he had at least given me an choice, I opted for having a brace and keeping all my teeth intact.

'Right,' he said. 'We'll book you in for the extractions and I'll refer you to the orthodontist.'


The four teeth (number fours in the dental role call) were removed. So tightly packed were they, that three of them ricocheted from my mouth and across the surgery floor and the gaps they left closed up in a matter of days. I still ended up having braces for 18 months, too. I was the first in my school to have the enormous fixed brace train track style that went all the way around every tooth. They were nothing like the delicate, subtle contraptions every other youngsters gets these days. In my day, when your teeth were being straightened, you knew they were being straightened and then some.


Anyway, back to Dougie Howser. 'Eight, seven, six, five missing, four, three, two, one, one, two, three, four, five missing,' he began.
'Er, it says on the records that it's the number fours that are missing,' interrupted the nurse.
'Really?' said Dougie.
'Esss,' I tried to say, with a mouth full of dentist probe and fingers. 'Esss. I ad er umber ours essstra'ed en I os en.'
Dougie ignored my ramblings. 'Are you sure?' he said to the nurse.
'Yes,' said the nurse. 'Her records definitely show number fours missing.'
'Ah well,' said Dougie. 'Fours, fives, they're all the same.'


WHAT?????? Excuse me, but they certainly are not. I thought, 'do you know what you are doing?'

Dougie, sounding a bit flustered, tried to regain his professional demeanour by explaining again the sameness of number fours and number fives but only succeeded in sounding a complete idiot. I thought, 'I'm glad there are no drills running.'


He finished his check up and complimented me rather excessively on the pinkness of my gums. 'They are very, very healthy,' he said. 'No work needs to be done.'

I was very glad about this for more than the usual flossing reasons.

The chair was brought up to its sitting position and I got off and wobbled with lightheadedness. Usually at this point, the dentist will say, 'see you in 6/9/12 months,' depending on how appropriate they deem they length between checkups. Dougie said nothing.


'So,' I said, deciding he needed a clue about how to complete the transaction. 'When shall I come back for my next checkup?'


He stared at my right shoulder. 'Er...how often do you usually have checkups?'
Can you read? I thought.
I said, 'Well, either six/nine or twelve months. The dentist usually tells me.'
'Do they?'
'Yes.'
I was beginning to think this wasn't a real dentist. This was a work experience lad from the local comp.


'Oh, well, I can't see you having any problems for at least twelve months,' he said.
Ah, a crystal ball reader! I wanted to get his premonition in writing, because I bet at least that we get some aggro from the chickens at some point in the next year.


I go to reception and pay my £16.50. I remark to the receptionist that I am feeling a bit dizzy.
'Had you upside-down, did he?' she says.
'Yes,' I said.
'It's his back,' she said. 'He's very tall. He'll get awful back problems, I reckon.'

He'll get more than that, I think, if he doesn't get his act together and his number fours and number fives sorted out.

'I like your dress,' said the receptionist.
'Thanks,' I said.