Back to My Dentist - Dr. Mengele

It’s not the first time I’ve written about the fellow.  Here’s today’s installment, largely because I don’t learn the first time.

I went last week to have an onlay installed.   No idea what an onlay is but it’s definitely not an inlay (although I told my wife I had them inlay my initials on my front teeth backwards, so I could see them in the mirror). It’s my first gold tooth, for what it’s worth.  And I don’t know why, other than them trying to sell me one.

I had one more dental issue I needed addressed, which was a jagged tooth, which kept trying to shred my tongue.  They made an appointment for this morning, at an hour long before I was awake.  This was a very clever trick on their part.  They figured I’d be too out of it to resist or punch the doctor (again).

It’s a very interesting place, if only in terms of nationalities.  The majority appear to be of Indian descent, but China and Eastern Europe are also represented.  It is very interesting to listen to two people you don’t understand talk to each other.

My host for today was China, who wasted no time in wielding the Implements of Torture.  I consider it a challenge to make people who aren’t from around here laugh but she was pretty easy.  She proceeded to take some absolutely horrible-looking torture devices in hand and dig right in (to my flesh).

I discovered another dental trick at this point.  She asked me to let her know if it hurt.  After a few moments it became clear that she wasn’t asking to let her know if it hurt so much as letting her know when it hurt (so she could apply more pressure).

It was a shame; she seemed to be such a nice person otherwise.

She asked me to rinse.  Rinsing is a study in quantum theory, somewhat like the verified fact that the inside of a woman’s pocketbook is much, much larger than the outside.  I felt a tiny speck of something in my mouth but when I rinsed, there was no way in hell all that stuff could have come from my mouth.  I swear, there were tree limbs and a small analog television circling the drain (along with the regulation blood, bits of teeth, and random body parts).

Meanwhile it became apparent that I wasn’t there for ritual torture: I was there to have a tooth fixed.  Unfortunately no one put me on the doctor’s schedule (oh boy!).  Fortunately the doc made time to see me (go doc!).

The first thing the doc asked me was if I had those teeth pulled.  Just in case I heard him incorrectly, I asked him to repeat that.  It was, indeed, what he said the first time.  I was, indeed, not having any teeth pulled.  I’m allergic to that procedure.  Highly allergic.  I’m still not sure I want to know why he asked me.

After poking around a bit. he determined that the tooth needed to be filled and left the room.  For some reason I still can’t fathom, they moved me to another room.  With a window, so I could monitor the gloom outside.  China seemed excited when she informed me I was getting The Boss.

I was confused, as I just figured my doc was The Boss (not that it mattered).  Dr. Boss introduced himself and asked if I understood the procedure.  Yes, I understood a filling.  So Dr. Boss got to work, with the aid of the Incredible Stealth Assistant<tm>, who snuck in while I wasn’t watching.  Both of them dressed up had the effect of looking like a small HAZMAT team was working on my mouth.  I could bump into the Incredible Stealth Assistant<tm> tomorrow on the street and I wouldn’t recognize her (even with the HAZMAT suit).

Doc Boss got out the Big Q-Tip, which meant the Big Needle would follow soon.  As a loyal patient, I knew what I had to do: I had to shut my damn eyes so I couldn’t see a single thing that was happening.

I don’t like needles, blood, or most anything else that goes on in a dentist or doctor’s office.  I try to not be a pain-in-the-ass patient by closing my eyes and pretending what’s going on is not going on.  It’s not particularly successful as a technique but it does keep me (mostly) seated.  I know the technique isn’t particularly successful because the doc and the assistants keep saying things like “open your mouth”, “calm down”, “open your mouth again”, “calm down”, and today’s favorite, “You’re a very good patient.”

I’m trying to figure out if Doc Boss is incredibly intuitive or just picked up a really silly phrase that makes patients feel like they’re getting praise from a convenient authority figure.  Perhaps he sensed that in the midst of sheer panic and revulsion, I would stop being panicked and revulsed because I had to apply the brakes to consider the total absurdity of his statement.

With my eyes glued shut, I felt The Needle make its way into my mouth.  They have this interesting move where they grab the skin on the outside of the mouth and shake it a bit.  This has the effect of getting the novocaine into the system faster.  Or the office has a bet on how much smacking about a patient will tolerate before he uses The Needle to numb the doctor’s posterior.

I know enough about relativity and panic to know that my sense of time is somewhat less than accurate when my eyes are closed and I am doing my best to assure myself that there is not, in fact, a huge needle inserted into my gums.    Especially when there IS, in fact, a huge needle inserted into my gums.

As if that weren’t enough, there’s another move that seems dentally universal.  Once the needle goes in, it’s time for the Needle Dance<tm>.  They all do the Needle Dance<tm> but there are no set steps or motions.  All that is required is a needle in someone’s gums and movement.  They have to move the needle around at first, like they’re drilling out some really stubborn steel screw, then start stabbing the needle in and out.  This can be accompanied by shaking the midsection, foot-tapping, putting your left hand in and pulling your left hand out, and in some offices, oral sex.  This is most disconcerting for several reasons:

• I am not the one getting the oral sex
• I can’t even watch
• I don’t want either of them to convulse while they’re working

I can’t tell you what actually transpired because, as I mentioned, my eyes were carefully welded shut.  When it was over (the needle part, mind you), Doc asked me to let him know when I got numb.  It felt like he put his entire office supply of medicine into my cheek.

In about five minutes the left half of my face fell off.

I attempted to let the doctor know, but it came out sounding something like “I’mmm bdnumbbb”.  I’m the same guy who just got done telling him I worked in computer networking.

As Doc Mengele II gets to work an unseen voice permeates the room from in back of my head.  It sounded like Doc Mengele (the original) but I wasn’t positive and was still in denial.   It’s tough to deny you’re in a dental chair when you look up and there’s a dentist working on you.

What followed, aside from being yet one more episode of Theatre of the Bizarre, was another clever trick thought up by this very bright and intuitive staff.  Unseen Voice starts conversing with Doc Boss, first about the samples (did we want the light wood or the cherry wood?) and then about cars (I test drove the Audi last night - I need a better deal on the lease), and finally settling on the reason he wasn’t taking his planned vacation to Estonia this week.

I’ve never had a dentist carry on a complete conversation that didn’t involve me (mrrphng?) before.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or be upset, so I went for my default: I analyzed what they were on about (which is exactly what the doc knew I would do, the sly fox).

After taking some carbon paper and rolling it up my right nostril, he asked me to bite down a few times, as he finished his conversation with an analysis of why we will never get anywhere in Afghanistan.  He was right, the bastard. He told me I could eat as soon as the novocaine wore off and I was off to work.

Here’s where it gets weird. (what, it isn’t weird yet?)

I was hungry.  I could not eat until the meds wore off, because I knew I’d wind up drooling (more than normal) and chewing on my cheek.  An hour after I got to work, the left half of my face was still much closer to the ground than the right half.  Perhaps the doc did put the entire office into my cheek.

After another hour I started to become aware of certain parts of my face and tongue.  Tempting fate, I had a cold glass of water.  The right half of my tongue said it was cold; the left half said it was warm.  It’s a wonder my head didn’t split down the middle.  People were hiding their mp3 players and phones so I wouldn’t drool on them.

Finally at about one in the afternoon, I had most of my face and mouth back.  Everyone agreed that this was perhaps a bit too much anesthetic and that it shouldn’t take this many hours to own one’s face after an appointment.  My stomach had gone past sending out morse code and was well on its way to developing speech.

And my mouth hurts. 

In every place but the one where he worked.