Reflections From the Dentist's Chair

I challenge you to find an operation anywhere that functions with the efficiency of my dentist's office.

"Is that cavity causing you pain?" I was asked during my cleaning,

"What cavity?"  Ten minutes later, I was on my way home with a follow-up appointment to have it filled. Over the next two weeks I received several polite, gentle reminders of the date and time. Upon my arrival that morning, no sooner had I announced myself at the front desk than the hygienist appeared from the back. "Good morning, Mr. Breda, please come with me."

"Uh, how did you know so quickly that I was here?"

"Well, when you arrive, this button on my screen turns green. Now that you're in the chair, it turns blue. See here?" Wow - sure enough, there it was, a blue indicator. Settling in, I began to muse.

How is it that I come to be here, in this comfortable, well-lit room with a view, being treated by such capable, well-equipped and friendly professionals for a problem that I didn't even know I had?

No, really. How did this come to pass?  Why me? Or does everyone get this treatment?

Well, let's see. My first memory of my teeth was putting them under my pillow when they fell out, and finding the Tooth Fairy's deposit (a quarter!) the next morning. Then I remember my poor mother, all swollen, recuperating in bed from having her wisdom teeth pulled. Hope she got more than a quarter for those.

My kindergarten photo shows that I had, well, what we called "buck teeth" - but only slightly, and they were part of my budding charm.  One dentist told me my teeth were "like granite," and Mom thought it might be because of the iron content in the well water (unproven by science, I am sure).  Then, sure enough, at about age twelve I got braces. This made my trumpet playing problematic, so I moved to a baritone because it had a larger mouthpiece. I remember that terrible feeling of getting the braces tightened every few months, and not being able to eat solid foods for a few days. But hey, "no pain-no gain!"

So that's pretty much the history of my teeth. Obviously, they aren't "like granite" any more, or I wouldn't be here, in this chair, getting one of them filled. I'm sensitive about their color, and I've had a couple of root canals along the way, too. Despite my parents' expense and best efforts, I have surely failed to maintain their investment in my teeth.

Now here I am, and despite the fact I would rather not be here, I'm reclining in relative comfort, able to watch the traffic outside passing by in the rain.  The hygienist is pleasant and charming, the dentist efficient and capable, and the sounds of the tools oddly soothing. Heck, I'm not even any pain. Not only will my tooth not rot and fall out of my head, in a strange way my day is off to a good start!

So, how did I get here, having my health needs met before I even know I have a need by skillful professionals? I know better than to think that everyone is this fortunate.

I think of an explanation Barack Obama once gave for the wealthy's success: I have hit life's lottery! You wouldn't know that by the house I live in, although I think it's a nice house. The car I drive, my job, my checking account balance - far from a jackpot. No, I hit the lottery when I was born into a family that loved me. I had parents who calmed my fears when, as a toddler, my teeth began falling out of my head. They taught me how to brush my teeth, then made sure I did it. When my teeth needed care - even cosmetic care - they made sure I got it. I had opportunities to learn new things, and overcome challenges along the way. They set examples that later enabled me to provide the same for my own kids. And so the lottery pays and pays and pays . . . .

You're reading this and saying "Me, too - I hit the lottery!" I'm sure that you did. But today I will no doubt see people who didn't. Maybe it will show when they smile, or don't. Or in the way they dress. Or when they get angry, fail a test, drop out of school, rob a liquor store, shoot up drugs or worse - shoot up a school.

Well, my tooth is filled and it's time to get out of this chair and go. Sure am grateful, doc, thanks for everything.

Definitely more grateful for having had time to reflect from the dentist's chair. But maybe I shouldn't be too comfortable.