Visit to dentist is all about deep pockets
WELL, it’s that time of year again. MoT time. Not the car, although it has just sailed through, thankfully. Oh, and I’ve just renewed ‘care and repair’ for my ten-year-old cooker. Didn’t realise all the years I’ve been paying that I’m entitled to a one-off valet service.
No, it’s MoT time for me. First, get the highlights sorted. The hairdresser suggested, as I needed so many, that we’d try the old-fashioned rubber cap instead of foils. Oh dear! Mistake. I looked like Elsa Lanchester as Bride of Frankenstein after she’d just been plugged in.
Next on the list is an appointment with the hygienist followed by a dental check-up … just at the right time. You know when you’re eating a mouthful of trifle and there’s an odd crunch and you think: ‘Funny, I don’t remember there being any bones in this.’ Then you run your tongue gingerly round your mouth for a few seconds until it snags on a gnasher and you realise what’s happened.
Yep, chipped a tooth – and a front one at that! Still, I don’t know how it occurred on a mouthful of trifle, but
anyway, a quick look in the mirror confirmed that it had to be addressed, along with the bottom ones, which I’d been putting off and which resembled the crenellations round the top of an ancient castle.
It was a new hygienist, who I must admit was very thorough. Quick check of the neck for nodules. Query about the little lump on the end of my tongue, which has been there for years and was embarrassingly caused by a habit I have of chewing it.
Would that I could say that I only do it to stop myself from saying something I might regret, but alas, no … it’s just a habit.
The next question had me thinking I was being invited out on a date. What were my drinking habits? My mistake – it was all part of finding out about the general state of my health.
That all sorted, it was time for the real business. Welding glasses on, assume the position and brace yourself for the poking! That ghastly pointed probe that is inserted between the teeth to see how deep your pockets are. And, as if that is not bad enough, the numbers are shouted out to be written down. The higher the number, the deeper the pocket.
Surprisingly, I was told I’d done a good job when it came to dental hygiene. I was half expecting a ‘good girl’ sticker and a lolly, but I suppose that would defeat the object. A quick buff, polish and spit and it was downstairs to the ‘fixer’, who once again felt for nodules and asked about my drinking habits.
By now I’d have welcomed a gin. ‘Sorry, just a little prick’ … insert joke … In fact, there were several of them under the top lip. Hate them! However, I was pleasantly surprised that I felt almost nothing.
In fact, it’s a shame my dentist doesn’t do lip fillers because I’d have asked him to do my ‘barcode lines’ while he was at it! I jokingly asked if the drugs had improved since my last jab or if he had got better at administering them? He didn’t take offence. All he heard was: “MMmf mmmmmmfs phlp!”
So, that’s the chip repaired, crenellations filled in and bite checked. Paying the bill at the dentist is possibly the only time that you wish you had deep pockets.
Just the optician to visit this week and then I should be good to go.
What a shame that one-off valet service wasn’t for me.
A ghastly pointed probe is inserted between the teeth to see how deep your pockets are