ravings, rantings and ramblings
I have never been vocal publicly about this but I do not like dentists. My heart-felt commiseration to the nobility of the profession. That still does not make me like dentists. I feel they are very invasive. Perhaps more than sensation-seeking journalists.
Why would I like somebody in a profession who sits with tools that you could use to nail and hang photographs on your wall? Hammer, drill, retractor, pliers – these are things the odd-jobs-man carries with him. And here I am, paying a handsome amount to a genteel gentleman about to use the same instruments on me! I feel inanimate. In fact, I feel like a car heading for a service overhaul. I sit there like a car with its bonnet open while a shining reflector throws light on my mouth’s intimates. And then looms up the faces of two mechanics, peeping and peering into my mouth, as if contemplating whether to change batteries or just change the spark plug. I hate people looking into my tonsils.
Just when I try to tame my flaring imagination and fast evaporating respect for dentists, he starts knocking one tooth and then the other. Almost like those mechanics who are making up their minds to enlist the number of fake problems in your car engine! My mouth is stretched and pulled open to newer degrees that would make other suspect professions shift me to their hall of fame. And slowly, one by one, all those instruments are shoved into my mouth. A mirror, a drill, tweezers, a leveler (I made up the name for lack of dental knowledge) apart from a something that could be called a pick. While there was an entire workshop going inside my mouth, my thoughts went to people and civilisation that suffered from tooth problems. Many ancient Egyptian Pharaohs suffered from bad dental hygiene. I was getting flashes of brown, scrawny, mummified bodies with stiff teeth; all to the cacophony of drilling and grinding INSIDE my mouth!
And if all that is not enough, the latex gloved probing of the mouth is distasteful! Man-handling my mandible, looking inside makes me feel I am without underwear!
Often I wonder, if dentists are the judgemental types. Do they find out who we are by looking at our teeth? Do crooked teeth tell them something that I do not want them to know? I can only hope they don’t. The other thing that bothers me is when the dentist is almost inside my mouth and the assistant hovering like a fly with a hoover in my mouth, where exactly am I supposed to stare? Do I look heaven-wards and pray that the dentist knows what he is drilling? Am I supposed to look cooperative when I see him going full-arm-strength on my molar? Do I look into his eyes and communicate that I am not exactly comfortable on his recliner? Or do I look at the pretty eyes of the assistant? I’d rather not. She too knows exactly who I am… deep inside!
I believe that dentists should only marry dentists. They should be a community unto themselves. They should not be allowed to breed outside their community. No patient would ever want to date his dentist; not after an invasive procedure that tells what you were up to last summer with your teeth! I bet nobody has a dentist fantasy or fetish!