Do You Smile Like a Crocodile?
I love my dentist. Well, not really my dentist that I have right this minute, he has the personality of a turnip, but traditionally through my life I have enjoyed my dental experiences. I often have to stop a new dentist or hygentist and explain, “I have NO dental fear. Please stop telling me everything that is happening, going to happen, has happened and such. It doesn’t make me more comfortable and the constant chatter just annoys me.” The reality is that I tend to have spa like relaxation in the dental chair. I close my eyes, open my mouth (when the only time words are not coming out) and zone out. I’ve been known to nearly fall asleep with the hum of the equipment and without the aid of a single drug. To say that I hold no fear or dread when it comes to dentist is truly an understatement.
Sadly, Prince is not of the same ilk. He had more issues when a small child with the dentist — something about throwing up on the dentist seems to be in the story. Recently he had to get some work done and literally came home sheet white and went to bed to recover. I don’t think I got the depths of his fears until he walked in from that time. Secretly, I’ve promised myself he will never drive himself to the dentist again.
Anyway, I’m convinced that my lack of fear and his complete fear are totally rooted in our childhood experiences. I went to a pediatric dentist with a standing rule that no child ever was to know that shots were involved in dentistry. Prince went to an adult dentist who tended to give him too much gas and causing projectile vomiting. As anyone can see, our earliest memories are SLIGHTLY different.
So, when it came to the time to begin to take Duke to have his teeth looked at; being the woman that I am, I raised my hand and said “Don’t worry, I’ll be in charge of this, I do NOT want any of *THAT* fear from you to rub off.” Prince, wisely, saw this as two fewer times to set foot into a dental office a year and agreed quickly. The first few visits I took Duke to my dentist in Snarkville. First, I REALLY liked him; he was good with kids (and their moms) and he had a special hygienist for kids (Sadly, she longed for kids of her own and never had any. She poured the love of children out on every child that walked in the door — and the kids responded.) Duke went there a few times and it was all good.
Then we moved and I feared what the next dentist would be like. When I searched my insurance, I found that here there is a pediatric dentist in town. Woot!! I made an appointment and secretly wish she’d see me. They are super patient with all the kids (even the scared ones); but they pour on the love to those who are interested in what is going on and are sweet to them. Duke is bright and figured this out quickly and is the model of perfection from the moment of walking in the door.
This morning, we went for our second ever appointment there. In the process of counting his teeth, one hygienist says to the other, “Teeth O and P are a little loose.” and then we moved on and chatted about 1,000 other things for 15 to 20 minutes. The doctor walked in and chatted with Duke and me. Duke says about 30 minutes after the counting began, “I’m ready to loose my teeth, but just two are loose. O &P.” The dentist looked up to confirm with the hygienist that he was right, that those two teeth were in fact the SLIGHTLY loose ones. Um, yes. Wow. Impressed the heck out of the whole room. The dentist explained how they letter the teeth and where it begins and ends to Duke. Duke is mesmerized. We all have a moment — for a second, I’m thinking about dental school by age 10, for my apparently toothy prodigy. Then, my bright eyed, sharp as a tack son, bats his baby blues at the dentist and asks (oh, so innocently):
“Do you think I could have TWO prizes, since I knew what letter teeth were loose?”
Dental School is out — Master Negotiator School is in!!!