Open Your Mouth Please

This is not a phrase I often hear in my life.  In fact, people usually say things like, "Be quiet!  There are people around.  What's wrong with you?"  I have this condition where everything that is in my brain spills out of my mouth when I open it, so I've found that it's best to keep it shut.

One of the things I had to do in my efforts to reestablish a new life in a first world country, was take a trip to the dentist.  Since I don't have dental insurance, and the M.V.D. and I are having a bit of a disagreement on the status of my driving license at the moment, this meant that not only was I going to be subjected to the horrors of having someone probe around in my mouth for 45 minutes, but I had to go with my mommy. 

She drove me to the same dental office that I went to for many years when I was younger.  When we arrived, I told the receptionist that I had an appointment and then glanced around the room for a chair to sulk in until my name was called.  Before I had a chance, I heard my mom saying, "Leslie, this is Kerri, my daughter!  Kerri, this is Leslie.  She has worked here for...how long is it now?"
"Six years!  Can you believe it?  Isn't that great?" Leslie said with such excitement that it made me wonder what she did before this.  Was she on a road construction crew, laying asphalt for new highways during the summer in Phoenix?  Did she work in a McDonald's factory, processing live chickens into nuggets? 

Finally, the dental hygienist called my name, and I walked back to her torture chamber.
"My name is Carol.  When was your last dental check-up?"
"About a year and a half ago.  I was out of the country."
"Oh, what were you doing?"
"Teaching."
"What do you do now?"
"Uh, I don't have a job."
"Well, you can always go back into teaching."
"I...don't want to."
After giving me a sad and pitiful look, Carol tried to ease the obvious tension by saying, "Well, there must be lots of jobs you can get with your degree."
"I could probably be one of those sign spinners."

Carol paused, clearly at a loss for words, and said, "I'm going to start by giving you a few x-rays."
She made a big deal about covering my entire body with that heavy silver cloth which contains kryptonite, thereby, eliminating radiation exposure to my body.  I tried not to laugh, thinking of all the x-rays I received in Cambodia where I was shoved against the plastic x-ray machine and told not to breathe.  And don't bother removing any metal jewelry or keys in your pocket.  If you're in a Cambodian hospital in the first place, you're probably going to die, so a little radiation doesn't really matter.

Carol jammed a 2x4 into my mouth and told me to bite down.  How did these things actually get more painful over the last couple years?  I briefly considered inventing one that didn't cause major bleeding on the roof of people's mouths, but was quickly distracted by the image of my teeth on the computer screen.  Is that a cavity?  Oh God!  And what is that?  Is that normal?  Why isn't she saying anything?  It must be horrible.  That's it.  She's in shock too and is waiting until she's done, so she can take my hands in hers and gently whisper, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but we are going to have to remove all your teeth."

After examining the computer screen images for what I estimate to be an hour, Carol finally said, "You have a lot of calculus build-up on your teeth."  She pointed to the screen, "See, here.  Here.  Here.  Here.  Here.  Here...and here."  O.K.  Jeez, I get it.  I should just leave now and join the circus.  "I'm going to use this special instrument first to hopefully break down some of it, so it's easier to remove," she concluded.

Then, Carol did things inside my mouth that I will not even describe to you.  I did as I was told.  "Open wide.  Turn you head to the side."  At one point, she commented on my remarkable stoicism.  I felt it best not to mention that the last time I complained at a place of medical care, my doctor yelled at me, called an "uncooperative patient," and threw me out.  If that can happen at a hospital where I was dying, imagine what could be done here.  Carol could put me to sleep with her magic gas, and I'd wake up with a gold, diamond encrusted grill on my front teeth.  Then, I'd be forced to change my name to K-Dog and learn how to rap.

Eventually, Carol sighed and announced, "You're going to have to come back because I don't have time to finish today.  Return in a few weeks, so I can finish working on the rough spots and polish your teeth.  Wait here for Dr. Kline.  He'll be here shortly."  I could hear Dr. Kline in the next room.  He was saying, "Four, three, four, two, three, four..."  I knew exactly what he was doing, and I also knew there was no way he was going to be there "shortly," so I took off my shoes and curled up into a ball for warmth.  Why is it so freezing in here?  Is a polar bear having a root canal down the hall?

When Dr. Kline did appear, he smiled apprehensively and said, "Well, it's been a long time.  And, now it's you."  He paused and stared at me as if he had just asked a question.
"Um, I'm sorry.  I don't understand."
"Oh, it's just that I see your parents all the time.  I mean...we don't talk about you or anything,"he tried to explain as someone does who has been gossiping about you behind your back for years.
"Oh.  Well, you should," I replied and shot him a creepy smile.
I could tell this made Dr. Kline even more uncomfortable, so naturally, I continued making vague, slightly weird comments.  It's not often that I get to make a dentist feel the same uneasiness that he gives to his patients on a daily basis.

Dr. Kline launched into the same analysis that Carol had given me.  "There's a lot of calculus" (which is just a fancy word for tartar).  "I'm not sure how long it's been on there.  We can't carbon date it.  Ha ha ha ha!"  He had to stop and laugh for a while at his hilarious dentist joke.  I blinked a few times, wondering when the hell I could get out of there.  He seemed genuinely disappointed that I didn't share in his mirth, so he quickly thrust me off on Leslie to make my next appointment.  My mother came over to pay, and Leslie said, "She got a debridement today, so it's going to cost a little more."
"What's that?" my mom asked.
"Perhaps I should have Carol come over and explain...," Leslie began.
I cut her off and said, "No!  I have a lot of crap on my teeth.  She got some of it off today, but needs to finish it another day."
My mom looked at Leslie who shrugged and said, "That's pretty much it."
My mom gave Leslie that 'oh, aren't kids funny?' chuckle.
Then, she turned to me and said brightly, "Leslie knows how teenagers talk.  She's got a couple of her own."
"Yes," said Leslie, "I've got an 18 year old and a 12 year old!"

Yep, that's right.  I'm 39 years old, and I was just compared to a teenager.  By two people.  Right in front of me.