Stream of Consciousness

Thanks to Tooth 31

Surprise dental visit today

Find socks in case it’s cold, socks that match — check. Find clothes that are cotton or natural and cozy — oops, most in dirty laundry. Mmmm….might have to find the cleanest ones that work. Floss for the dentist and brush — check. A bit of face grooming in case she magnifies my face — done earlier, check. Find a cozy sweater in case it’s cold in the office — check.

Why am I so worried about how I look for this dentist?

I want the endodontist to see me as respectable, and not judgeable (so maybe she’ll do a better job? I’m dentist-pleasing?) yet I'm wearing my comfortable khaki-colored cotton pants, which have slight stains through many washings all over the place so my top needs to make up for this.

This is a surprise same-day appointment. Have been, oh, embarrassing, through, well, this will be the fourth evaluation, but I feel good about this woman endodontist. She serves in a low-income area — I can relate as a social worker.

I have had many unexpected surprises at previous consultations. I have gone into the helpless. Who knows, who knew, making mistakes as I go.

Well, there was the eval by the office that took Panoramic X-rays on my entry — later to find out that they are not needed to evaluate my molar, tooth 31, but give big doses of radiation. There was coming into an office where receptionists were like washing machines.

Come in, put your credit card in the slot, fill out the forms — these ones too, yes, the one that says your health may go to hell in a hand basket after your treatment. I was so nervous that I told the back office people I felt like a number. They were attentive and sweet. Clayton and Mary.

I remembered my sister Judith who is now late, who wouldn’t put up with nonsense from people. Once at an airport, she told the unsuspecting attendant: We’re not cows you’re herding! Or was that the time when we were standing waiting for a table for a long time at the restaurant. I wish I could remember her otherwise memorable words!

You know every time I call a doctor's office they ask for my birthday. That feels a little personal, but it’s now like part of the routine. It seems, sometimes, like the offices have their agenda, “their policies” and your particular brain that did get two master's degrees, is negligible, you are in their anonymous hands treating you like a blank-slate headed body to get through quickly and to the person who takes the money.

But Clayton and Mary stood out. Mary put a blanket over me like a mommy, and Clayton talked to me real to real person.

Thank God for the Claytons and Mary’s and for one previously thorough eval, and for the endodontist I will see today.

I am traveling hours to see her as she taught at USC and has good vibes and reviews. (Most reviews of endodontists I’ve seen show that they are good at giving instructions and have good loyalty with prior patients, but are not great at answering questions. Their patients report fair outcomes (groany face). I know, I spent a day looking them up.

The endodontist today called to talk with me and got me in when she probably goes home for the day at 3:30, time to be with her family or dog, who is like family. I feel good about her.

Thank God for people who don’t scowl at you, and say “You’re in the wrong place, you should be at an endodontist’s office — but here is the bill for $200. (That was an oral surgeon in a moment I’d thought I’d needed the tooth pulled).

How nice when someone sees you at eye-to-eye level (or even close to that, not looming above or who calls you by a name and not by your birthday. My birthday is 4–20 so that could be fun for some… it’s just the birth year is a bit sensitive. I don’t know when I grew older.

Of course, I’m glad I can now speak with a man, unlike in 7th grade when I was in love with cute Kyle Hoopes, and couldn’t talk to him when he walked me home. When he, understandably, lost interest, I thought of killing myself on the large wire outside our home in Vegas.

I still remember the night we slowed danced at our first “Stop and Go” party to “Surfer Girl” and “In My Room”, and we kissed each time Mary’s older sister stopped the record player. The night was black but stars lit my heart on the patio of Mary E’s house.

After the party, in the kitchen, I danced with the broom singing, “I could have danced all night” over and over again. The next day at school Carole B. called me out (to fight after school) because Kyle was her boyfriend. But Carole and I must have made up because my next memory of Carole is singing “O come ye all faithful” together door to door before Christmas— while I hoped no one would recognize me and tell my father the rabbi.

I wouldn’t mind repeating some of the girl talk about boys over chips and salsa at Macayo Vegas down the block, writing for the school paper, making up funny plays for the assemblies with friends, and other great times in junior high school and high school.

Yet I guess I don’t need to make out a will and last statement of relevant life events before possibly having a shot or more of novocaine and possibly a deep dive into my pulp and into my poor, possibly dead now nerve.

I can’t help remembering the dentists of my childhood, who gave out tiny charms at the end of each visit. I remember fingering those charms as I sat on the floor of my bedroom, and putting them in a special clear plastic box. You could make bracelets with these charms.

I probably asked, from my short-banged child face: Mommy, take me to the dentist. (Thank you to those dentists who made the visits a good memory).

Now I think of bringing a box of Celestial Seasonings Chamomile Tea or a jade plant for the office staff as a kind gesture/make nice bribe/to set an appreciative, human tone, a gesture that I see them (so they see me).

More positive memories are ahead: I will be protected.

My friends Rea, Naomi, and Esther are praying for me. My connection is good (even if the tooth is not) — thanks to the invisible ones helping me through this upcoming consultation, possible procedure and everything.

Thank you, tooth 31, who I’ll name “Devoted” for decades of chewing.

As a child, you chewed lamb chops at our dinner table (thanks mom — -you you were a great cook) and chewy “Butterfingers” after school. As a young adult, you chewed raw corn when I was going through a raw diet phase. You have been amazing. You may stay with me. We’ll see.