Tuesday, 28 March 2017

Dentists Are The Devil In Disguise

As a child, I was pretty useless. My greatest talent was my ability to trip over my own feet, which, I did spectacularly well. As a result of my ineptness, I adored any activity which allowed me to win. The dentists was one of those. No matter what dire state your teeth were in you were always awarded at the dentists. Those cheap, Disney princess stickers the size of your hand were worthy enough for you to pimp out your terrible teeth. In fact, I loved the dentists that much that I would proudly display my moldy old molars like an auction house displays a priceless antique, in the hope of maximum reward. If I could have won Olympic gold for my stint in that plush reclining chair, then I would have been a national treasure.

But, who needs medals when you can wear a shiny square sticker emblazoned with your favourite Disney characters face like a badge of honor for days on end. Jealousy was tangible in the school playground when you arrived with your sticker proudly positioned on your jumper. It was a bigger bounty than any tin trophy you could win at the school sports day and certainly a more prized possession than any merit certificate. Those stickers were a real prize. It made a clumsy soul like me feel a sense of achievement for a fleeting moment.

That was until I was 14-years-old. Not only is this the time when I rather ungraciously stopped accepting the obnoxious stickers (by this point the Disney stickers had been replaced with patronising messages such as: "special award for bravery") but it was also the time that the dentists cleaved me down from the winner's podium that I was raucously celebrating upon. 

When my adult teeth came through, my front two were stained with a rather unsightly cream mark. My dentist declared that the only solution were veneers. My 14-year-old self-thought that sounded perfectly acceptable, given that I was starting to get conscious of what people might think of my not-so-pearly whites. 

So, after several appointments to prepare my new teeth, they were ready. I was excited and at this point a firm fan of the dentists. My dentist was also incredibly good looking, which aided my calm attitude towards him acting like Edward Scissorhands with his mini mirror and toothpick. However, little did I know that my dental experience was about to turn into a real life Tim Burton movie (minus Johnny Depp, sadly). 

The pain I experienced as the dentist fitted my new teeth is single handedly the most excruciating experience of my life. It hurt, a lot. I cried. I think I bit my dentist, hard. I cried a little more and clawed deep gouges into the palms of my hands to stop me from screaming. If torture was illegal, my dentist sure hadn't got the memo.

The whole ordeal left me with a nervous twist in my stomach every time somebody mentioned the dentist and I vowed that I would never return. Unfortunately, as I have already advised, I am incredibly clumsy. On Valentines Day the following year, I managed to successfully knock half of my veneer off by head butting the bathroom sink. I went into meltdown. I considered going toothless for the rest of my days. I even tried to find a Pritt stick to glue it back on. No such luck.

The missing piece was quickly reattached by the good looking dentist, who by now appeared to me as the world's ugliest man. For several months I went without injury, until I decided to leave for France. One week into my scheduled 6-month trip, I managed to loose my precious tooth again. This time the casualty was a result of an over zealous shot girl in a bar who decided to give me some ivory to drink as well as some vodka. To add insult to injurt, I hate vodka.

After a full blown meltdown, which could only be resolved by my best friend, I accepted dental treatment in France. I paid the extra to have my mouth turned numb and I sweated, shivered and internally screamed throughout the whole thing. My best friend, who foolishly agreed to be present throughout the procedure, could easily have pressed charges against me for assault, as it turns out I inadvertently dug my nails so deeply into her arm that I left her with nail shaped wounds for days.

In summary, I now lose every time I go to the dentists. I lose my sanity and I lose whatever shred of dignity I may have left. You cannot win at the dentists, no matter how many times they distract you with obnoxiously large stickers of Disney princesses.

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