Your favorite place and mine
Call me crazy, but I usually love going to the dentist. It's kind of therapeutic really, sitting there all sprawled out on the dentist's chair, watching this person poke around your mouth with all sorts of instruments. Well, okay, in a masochistic kind of way. Back in high school, when I felt depressed or guilty or when I needed some kind of jolt/rush/fix, I'd schedule an appointment with my ortho and get my braces tightened. Somehow, the excruciating pain took my mind off anything else.
Now my new dentist's office is actually one place you wouldn't mind going to. First, her assistants whisk you off and promptly install you in a massage chair. Somebody takes your hand and dips it in wax for the free paraffin hand treatment. She's running a few minutes behind schedule but you don't mind because your hands are soft and your back feels great. She actually explains what she's doing while she's doing it. Her office is spotless, her staff is helpful, the facilities are topnotch (xrays, photos of your teeth from different angles).
The hygienist tells me that she has a hard time positioning the xray because of the extra bone in my mouth, a fact that no one in 22 years has ever told me. Later, at home, I inspect my sister's mouth (siblings are useful for situations such as these) and sure enough she does not have protrusions in the lower arch like I do.
This time, however, I didn't want to be back there so soon. (I was just there last week!) But because of an accident involving ginger candy (curse you, Aji Ichiban!) and a crown, apparently I will have to promise my firstborn to my dentist. Dental care is quite, quite expensive (I guess the paraffin isn't free, after all).
{Rollercoaster, Dear Nora} - Beside the light that's getting in my eyes, a rollercoaster ride...
Call me crazy, but I usually love going to the dentist. It's kind of therapeutic really, sitting there all sprawled out on the dentist's chair, watching this person poke around your mouth with all sorts of instruments. Well, okay, in a masochistic kind of way. Back in high school, when I felt depressed or guilty or when I needed some kind of jolt/rush/fix, I'd schedule an appointment with my ortho and get my braces tightened. Somehow, the excruciating pain took my mind off anything else.
Now my new dentist's office is actually one place you wouldn't mind going to. First, her assistants whisk you off and promptly install you in a massage chair. Somebody takes your hand and dips it in wax for the free paraffin hand treatment. She's running a few minutes behind schedule but you don't mind because your hands are soft and your back feels great. She actually explains what she's doing while she's doing it. Her office is spotless, her staff is helpful, the facilities are topnotch (xrays, photos of your teeth from different angles).
The hygienist tells me that she has a hard time positioning the xray because of the extra bone in my mouth, a fact that no one in 22 years has ever told me. Later, at home, I inspect my sister's mouth (siblings are useful for situations such as these) and sure enough she does not have protrusions in the lower arch like I do.
This time, however, I didn't want to be back there so soon. (I was just there last week!) But because of an accident involving ginger candy (curse you, Aji Ichiban!) and a crown, apparently I will have to promise my firstborn to my dentist. Dental care is quite, quite expensive (I guess the paraffin isn't free, after all).
{Rollercoaster, Dear Nora} - Beside the light that's getting in my eyes, a rollercoaster ride...
