January 23, 2002

Dentist visit gives reason to smile

By GARRET LEIVA
Herald editor
       Sitting in a dentist chair always makes me feel like Dustin Hoffman. Without fail, when my dentist walked in last week I fully expected him to ask "Is it safe?" before extracting my molars - sans Novocain.
      Images of "Marathon Man" aside, dental checkups always bring a smile to my face. However, the reason for this light-hearted outlook has little to do with cavity-free bicuspids or mint-flavored dental floss.
      Call me strange, but I find myself choking back laughter when people start poking around my mouth with blunt metal instruments. Perhaps I suffer from the same mores-breaking impulse as those who face the wrong way in elevators or giggle at funerals.
      However, going to the dentist wasn't always such a laughing matter. Not when you're a nine-year-old facing the dreaded word fillings.
      Throughout my childhood, visiting Dr. Bailey's office meant either a brush with pleasure or pain. The good doctor - and he was a nice guy - kept a treasure chest full of trinkets for cavity-free checkups. Unfortunately, the plastic decoder ring usually slipped through my hands because of the "lick and a promise" approach to cleaning my canines. At least he had the decency to never say "this is going to hurt me a lot more than you" before starting up the drill.
      For years, it seemed like no amount of Looney Tunes toothpaste or school-sponsored Swish could fight off the Cavity Creeps invading my incisors. Lying awake at night, I could hear their chanting mantra of "We make holes in teeth!" echoing from my molars.
      While the Creeps eventually packed up and moved away, they left behind a damage deposit of 12 filings. Despite this fact, I'm still a fickle flosser; maybe I'd be smarter about dental care if my wisdom teeth hadn't been yanked. Much like my "baby" tooth that never grew into a permanent molar, I remain attached to many inner childish ways.
      Now many people are down in the mouth about dentistry. Standup comic Bill Cosby devoted an entire monologue to visiting the dentist. Jerry Seinfeld's TV character once noted that the difference between Hell and the dentist office is newer magazines. For further proof, look how the elves in Santa's workshop treated Hermey when he boldly proclaimed: "I want to be a dentist."
      Unlike these ingrates, I have the utmost respect for dentists and dental hygienists. After all, what other job involves working around people's saliva and the prospect of having your finger bitten by touching the wrong nerve? Personally, if it weren't for a timely trip to the dentist, I might not even exist today.
      Strange as it sounds, my parents found love at the dental office. Years ago, while on business in Michigan, my father visited a dentist office in Bay City about a tooth problem. During the course of his checkup, he asked the dental hygienist - my mother - out for lunch. I guess dad's pearly whites must have made an impression because they went out to dinner that same night. Thanks to the dentist office, the rest is my history.
      Ironically, this union, which sprung forth from the dentist chair, would lead to two offspring with umpteen cavities between them. Of course, all the Halloween candy build up didn't help matters much.
      For me, there is no feeling like running your tongue over teeth freshly scrapped, polished and flossed from the dentist office. It actually makes you feel guilty about grinding dinner into your molars; as if driving down a dirt road after detailing your car.
      After a visit to the dentist, I often find myself reaching for a strand of dental floss before going to bed. That night, I fall asleep with a smile on my face - ignoring the faint chants of "Is it safe?" coming from my molars.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com