My Legacy

Some tortures are physical
And some are mental,
But the one that is both
Is dental.
~Ogden Nash

Yesterday my darling, though doubting, niece wondered (in her comment to my blog) if I had taken Emma to "the awful" dentist.

How could you question me Desi?

Is it because you're almost a teenager and that is part of the job description?

I wouldn't take Emma to the dentist who I don't trust (which is what makes him awful...he's otherwise a nice enough guy).

I took Emma to our pediatric dentist.

Going there is a little bit like entering the Twilight Zone and it's a little bit like going on the set of Teletubbies.

They don't utter the word "shots".  Heaven forbid.  They "sprinkle teeth with sleepy water".

Give. Me. A. Break.

They seem to want the children to like them.

It's not going to happen.  People don't like dentists.

They don't.

But we keep going back, because they're good.  I was talking to Braeden about the "sleepy water" being their name for shots.  Braeden's eyes widened. (He's had teeth pulled there too.  Braeden and Emma unfortunately have twin mouths.)  He said, "They give us shots?!"  Uh.  Yeah.

Also, they solved a tooth problem a few years ago that our other dentist puzzled over.  I trust them.  And that's worth a lot.

But.

They call Emma, "Sweetheart".

I don't know if it rankles Emma, my mother, or me more to be called sweetheart by someone that is certainly not our sweetheart.  The only thing worse is "Hon".

It doesn't have the desired sweetening effect on Emma in any case.  I think she's what you would call a difficult patient.  They always carefully sequester her in a separate room, away from small children that might be frightened.  She sets her jaw and tears fill her eyes and no amount of cajoling or "sweetheart" or "hon" helps.

It got to the point yesterday that the dentist was calling her "Sweetie" through clenched teeth.  There was no affection in that room.  From any of us.

But the teeth got pulled and Emma survived.  She was even shocked when she discovered that it was all over with.

She hadn't felt a thing.

That sleepy water...

So I passed on dental anxiety to my daughter.

It's too bad I can't keep more of my personality traits to myself.

Because I'm also not very patient or long suffering.

When I was in college, home for the summer, I got a sliver under my fingernail from a fence post.  Where I grew up, slivers are definitely an occupational hazard.

My dad, master sliver taker outer with his sharp pocket knife, wouldn't touch it.  He said, "You'll just have to leave it and let it work itself out."  I begged him for relief like I would one day beg for an epidural when Emma was on her way into this world but it didn't do any good.  Either time.

My dad said he didn't want to hurt me like he knew digging for that sliver would hurt me.

But I couldn't just wait it out.  I didn't have it in me.

One night, when everyone was in bed and the house was quiet I took a razor blade and shaved off my fingernail to get the sliver out.

I had to.

It worked and my fingernail is even back to normal again.  Finally.

Yesterday afternoon, too late to do anything about it, Braeden's wire came loose in his mouth.  Occasionally, when his teeth move enough, that happens.  It's no one's fault, we just have to go in and get a longer wire.

Except Braeden couldn't eat or even be very happy with a sharp wire jabbing him in the mouth.

He asked me to cut it.

I said no.  It just seemed like a bad idea.

He begged.

(Is this sounding familiar?)

I told him no.  No matter where the wire was cut, it would jab him in the mouth.  He said, "Not if you cut it right up here, by my front teeth."  I wavered, but said no.

Braeden headed for the garage for wire cutters.  "I'll do it myself."

(Is this sounding familiar?)

Visions of Braeden lopping his teeth out willy-nilly danced in my head.

"OK, OK," I relented.  "I'll do it."

I stuck the wire cutters inside his mouth.

I snipped the wire.

Right up front.

And POP.  There went one of his brackets.

I wanted to be mad at someone.  Braeden?  Mr. Impatient?  Why didn't he just listen when I told him no?  Why didn't we just leave well enough alone so we didn't need a much longer appointment tomorrow to get the bracket replaced when I already have a very busy day?

Why?

Because he's my son.

So we'll go to the orthodontist, my hat in my hand, "Sorry I popped off my son's bracket and cut his wire."

Why don't I have any good traits to pass on to my children?

(I don't think sarcasm and an insatiable sweet tooth count.)