health insurance, finally pt. 2: The dentist
Everything that can be said about doctors is the exact opposite for dentists. I don't know if they know what they are doing, but I do know that I don't know how to do what they're doing.
I will illustrate with a point. My last regular dentist was named Dr. Cain. He worked in Pleasanton, California and I was 20 years old or so. Dr. Cain suggested that I get a root canal. I didn't. I left and never returned. It is now twelve years later and at my dentist visit today nobody so much as mentioned a root canal. Evidently, the problem fixed itself. That or my dental insurance won't cover a root canal. Whichever.
The point is, though, that I go to the doctors for problems that will otherwise fix themselves. If I tell him that I have the flu, and he tells me that I'll get better, I'm moderately sure that he's right and I'm also fairly positive that my recuperation will have nothing to do with him. And for this reason, as well as his gigantic paycheck, I don't really like doctors and consider my time with them, if not wasted, at least less than necessary.
When, however, the dentist tells me that I have a cavity, or say, the top of my tooth falls off, I'm pretty sure that this problem will not fix itself, and thus, I am in a position to do whatever it is that these people tell me and also to endure whatever these people are inclined to put me through. Which is why when they poke and prod me with spikes designed to determine the depth of spaces between my teeth, I clench, I cry, but I do not complain.
This is also why I forgive Dr. Cain for getting that whole root canal thing wrong. I do not second guess the sorcerer when he asks for eye of newt when clearly he means toe of frog.
I suppose as an addendum to this I should add that I have horrible teeth. And so, while yes, I will make random appointments with doctors for shits and giggles, I take very seriously the appointments that I have with my dentist--just as I take seriously his advice.
I have a horrible fear that my teeth will shatter half way up leaving me with glass like shards of a tooth ridge, and that thereafter, I will be forced to eat only calimari and uncooked rice. Basically, the worst parts of that Ren and Stimpy episode.
My newest dental hygienist put a metal spike the size of pencil lead between my left eye tooth and the next tooth back towards the molar like a dip stick. She keeps prodding that gum over and over again. She pulls the stick out writes something down on her clipboard, and then begins to prod another spike of gum for a moment to give me the impression that she's moved on, then she moves back. She is diligent, and every time she prods, she returns to her clipboard to make more notes.
I hate that clipboard. It holds the bad news on it that the doctor will not tell me outright because, as a dentist, he gets tired of causing pain, and when he can say, "you're teeth are looking kind of bad" he will, despite the fact that he really wants to say, "you're teeth are going to all fall out and there's nothing we can do about it."
After her tenth or eleventh trip back I give the Owww, I bite back my desire to ask her what the fuck she's doing. She tells me that she'll have to come back later and do this when I've had some Novacaine. That won't be until July. I've been good. I've been flossing. That's the super secret ingredient that was missing from all my previous dental appointments that went so wrong. Flossing, but now I've flossed, and everything should be fine, but its not fine. I have a problem that requires me to be anaesthized in order for me to endure its treatment. Medium level gum disease. The dip stick is supposed to go to two, four at most--four she's okay with because of inflammation--but six, six is horrendous.
She produces a chart to show me what she means. I know what she means, I can feel every nook and cranny of my gum that her iron spike has violated, I don't need to see the side view. But that's dentist mentality. They want so desperately for you to know that they're not doing this because their sickos or something. When's the last time a doctor showed you a side view of your sinuses to explain why you have allergies? Does anyone even know why they have allergies? Doctors don't explain. Dentists team up for the explanation with a dentist, an oral hygienist, and sometimes an oral surgeon. "See," they seem to say, "we're not sadists." Then they poke the spike in again.
I love dentist language. Plaque become calculus. There's no need to explain further. I know that calculus is hard, and I knew it would one day return to cause me serious injury. The calculus around the root of my tooth is pushing away at the gum and eroding the bone beneath. If you tell people this, you can tell them anything at all afterwards. Just mention bone erosion and you could get Pat Robertson to kiss a guy at the corner of Polk and Castro. I'm just saying that it's very motivating.
The upshot of all this is that the dentist feels that my problem has been caught just in time for it to be reversible. I love dentists, we're always catching things just in time that my lack of dental insurance won't let me fix for a couple of years, at which point we catch them just in time again. All we have to do is re-fill all my cavities (800 or so in total, I think) and then fill all my new cavities (200 more), floss of course, but not normal flossing like I've been doing, no, no. I've got level 6 pockets in my gums, I'm going to have to floss deep from now on. Prescription tooth paste.
In other words, four more "drill type" visits to the dentists and one novacaine deadened visit with the dental hygienist. Do you get the feeling that I could of avoided all this had I just gone ahead with that root canal way back when?
I will illustrate with a point. My last regular dentist was named Dr. Cain. He worked in Pleasanton, California and I was 20 years old or so. Dr. Cain suggested that I get a root canal. I didn't. I left and never returned. It is now twelve years later and at my dentist visit today nobody so much as mentioned a root canal. Evidently, the problem fixed itself. That or my dental insurance won't cover a root canal. Whichever.
The point is, though, that I go to the doctors for problems that will otherwise fix themselves. If I tell him that I have the flu, and he tells me that I'll get better, I'm moderately sure that he's right and I'm also fairly positive that my recuperation will have nothing to do with him. And for this reason, as well as his gigantic paycheck, I don't really like doctors and consider my time with them, if not wasted, at least less than necessary.
When, however, the dentist tells me that I have a cavity, or say, the top of my tooth falls off, I'm pretty sure that this problem will not fix itself, and thus, I am in a position to do whatever it is that these people tell me and also to endure whatever these people are inclined to put me through. Which is why when they poke and prod me with spikes designed to determine the depth of spaces between my teeth, I clench, I cry, but I do not complain.
This is also why I forgive Dr. Cain for getting that whole root canal thing wrong. I do not second guess the sorcerer when he asks for eye of newt when clearly he means toe of frog.
I suppose as an addendum to this I should add that I have horrible teeth. And so, while yes, I will make random appointments with doctors for shits and giggles, I take very seriously the appointments that I have with my dentist--just as I take seriously his advice.
I have a horrible fear that my teeth will shatter half way up leaving me with glass like shards of a tooth ridge, and that thereafter, I will be forced to eat only calimari and uncooked rice. Basically, the worst parts of that Ren and Stimpy episode.
My newest dental hygienist put a metal spike the size of pencil lead between my left eye tooth and the next tooth back towards the molar like a dip stick. She keeps prodding that gum over and over again. She pulls the stick out writes something down on her clipboard, and then begins to prod another spike of gum for a moment to give me the impression that she's moved on, then she moves back. She is diligent, and every time she prods, she returns to her clipboard to make more notes.
I hate that clipboard. It holds the bad news on it that the doctor will not tell me outright because, as a dentist, he gets tired of causing pain, and when he can say, "you're teeth are looking kind of bad" he will, despite the fact that he really wants to say, "you're teeth are going to all fall out and there's nothing we can do about it."
After her tenth or eleventh trip back I give the Owww, I bite back my desire to ask her what the fuck she's doing. She tells me that she'll have to come back later and do this when I've had some Novacaine. That won't be until July. I've been good. I've been flossing. That's the super secret ingredient that was missing from all my previous dental appointments that went so wrong. Flossing, but now I've flossed, and everything should be fine, but its not fine. I have a problem that requires me to be anaesthized in order for me to endure its treatment. Medium level gum disease. The dip stick is supposed to go to two, four at most--four she's okay with because of inflammation--but six, six is horrendous.
She produces a chart to show me what she means. I know what she means, I can feel every nook and cranny of my gum that her iron spike has violated, I don't need to see the side view. But that's dentist mentality. They want so desperately for you to know that they're not doing this because their sickos or something. When's the last time a doctor showed you a side view of your sinuses to explain why you have allergies? Does anyone even know why they have allergies? Doctors don't explain. Dentists team up for the explanation with a dentist, an oral hygienist, and sometimes an oral surgeon. "See," they seem to say, "we're not sadists." Then they poke the spike in again.
I love dentist language. Plaque become calculus. There's no need to explain further. I know that calculus is hard, and I knew it would one day return to cause me serious injury. The calculus around the root of my tooth is pushing away at the gum and eroding the bone beneath. If you tell people this, you can tell them anything at all afterwards. Just mention bone erosion and you could get Pat Robertson to kiss a guy at the corner of Polk and Castro. I'm just saying that it's very motivating.
The upshot of all this is that the dentist feels that my problem has been caught just in time for it to be reversible. I love dentists, we're always catching things just in time that my lack of dental insurance won't let me fix for a couple of years, at which point we catch them just in time again. All we have to do is re-fill all my cavities (800 or so in total, I think) and then fill all my new cavities (200 more), floss of course, but not normal flossing like I've been doing, no, no. I've got level 6 pockets in my gums, I'm going to have to floss deep from now on. Prescription tooth paste.
In other words, four more "drill type" visits to the dentists and one novacaine deadened visit with the dental hygienist. Do you get the feeling that I could of avoided all this had I just gone ahead with that root canal way back when?
posted by Monstro D. Whale at
10:11 AM
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