I have bad teeth, really bad teeth. Unfortunately, its due to genetics and not dental hygiene or diet (ask Abs and Dave, who will testify to their disgust at my undying love for flossing picks and my belief that they are appropriate anywhere and everywhere--in the car, on the phone, during dinner, making a presentation, standing for a wedding, etc., etc.).
Growing up, I saw my dentist so frequently he may as well have been my godfather. My most vivid teenage summer memory is riding my bike every day to the dentist for two weeks straight after my braces were removed. However, no dental love is great enough to morph a trip to the dentist into a pleasant experience. When my dependent dental coverage ceased upon college graduation, I silently rejoiced.
Two years passed. I could feel the walls of enamel crumbling but couldn't drag myself to a dentist. Finally, this past January, I dragged my feet into the local dental school. I don't think they knew what they were in for. In took two appointments to establish a care plan alone. The initial quote--at dental school prices, which are 50% off average dental costs--rang up to over $8,000. They assigned me to a 3rd year student who looked so daunted, I thought he'd start crying. They should have turned me into a 4-credit course.
Since then I've gone to the dental school about once a week. I've become somewhat of a fixture, chatting with the receptionist about how her dog is doing, nodding my greeting to white-coated acquaintances in the hall, and gossiping with the faculty about which student left the x-ray machine on
again.
And for some reason, I am really enjoying myself. Why? I don't know. Going to a student dentist is pretty horrible. He always misses the nerve with the 1st Novocaine shot. Once, he spilled the tray of tools on my lap. A simple filling inevitably takes over 3 hours, which means the Novocaine has worn off by the last .5 hour. He spent 4 hours filling a tooth last week and immediately upon completion, determined it needed a root canal. But somewhere, in the back of my head, there is this thought that I am taking care of myself. And behind this thought is the thought that I am getting a GREAT DEAL. I can't pass up anything on clearance, I simply can't. My sister hates this about me: I don't care how ugly something is--if it's 75% off, I'm buying it.
Another dental school student called me last week because he heard through the vine that my mouth is a treasure trove of opportunity for the budding dentist. He requested that I travel an hour away to sit as his patient for the dental boards. It would be a terrible experience, he explained, "I'll be super nervous and it will take more time than normal in order to get every step approved." Even worse, it would occur the day before my final exam of my final year of school. For the first time, I flatly refused. But then my resolve weakened as he continued: "the filling will be of no charge to you." And then? Then he threw in the clincher: "I'll pay you $50."
"I'LL DO IT!" I practically screamed. I'm very excited--I've mentally spent that $50
hundreds of ways.
People came, I swear.
