Another Visit to Dr. Scrivello
Well, I had yet another appointment with the dental chair today. By now, I'm getting used to the idea that this appointment and the next few will be torture sessions. Not on the scale of Abu Ghraib, no, but it's still not on my all-time Top Ten Days to Remember The Rest of My Life, y'know.
Today was somewhat surprising. Since the student dentist and I are spending so much quality time together, he met me down in the lobby then proceeded to chat me up a little while we were waiting for the interpreter. Now that I've had this particular dental student for the past couple of appointments, I'm starting to be able to lipread him just enough to have a light, superficial conversation. So we sat there and yakked a little. But still no interpreter... finally, twenty minutes later, we decide he'll go ahead and call and see what's up with the interpreter. We head upstairs, and on the way we bump into another dentist-to-be. My fella says something to me, and of course, I go, "Huh?" In jumps the newbie, who immediately *signs* back to me, doing an impromptu interpreting stint. I'm a bit surprised, then thank him. I hadn't noticed it before, but he sports a white t-shirt with "I LOVE NY" on it; but instead of the usual heart, there's an ILY sign there...
Then when the interpreter finally shows, and we get me settled in the Chair of Pain, the supervising dentist comes down to see me and check my teeth out and make sure my guy's treatment plan is what it should be. This teacher sees me and the interpreter, smiles, and signs, "How are you?" That's two people so far who know how to sign. I know whoever actually sees these guys out in the professional world are going to be lucky to have a dentist that is able to communicate with them!
Today was yet another filling, this time accompanied by five shots. Actually, two shots and three medicinal drips, where the plunger was pushed, but not the needle, and lovely, yummy, foul-tasting numbing agents were drizzled onto my gums, my teeth, my tongue, my taste buds, my throat...
I get the clamp and dental dam treatment again, and away we go. What differentiated this time from last time is that again we have a struggle to get the rubber dam in place several times, with the end result being that while drilling is taking place, the novocaine has worn off... and I *feel* the damn drill!
OUCH. As much as I hate the damn shots, I'm very, very glad I am living *now*, and not having the misfortune of living decades or centuries ago when the concept of dental care was going to the blacksmith, hanging on for dear life, and having pincers applied to the offending tooth.
Thus the five administrations of numbing sensations to my teeth. Joy, joy, joy. Eventually, the old filling is tossed, the area cleaned, the new filling poured in, and I'm sent on my way. I get the pleasure of another visit right before Thanksgiving. Even though I told my dental student to limit the shots to two, I think I'll just take whatever I end up getting, as long as I don't feel the drill again...
Today was somewhat surprising. Since the student dentist and I are spending so much quality time together, he met me down in the lobby then proceeded to chat me up a little while we were waiting for the interpreter. Now that I've had this particular dental student for the past couple of appointments, I'm starting to be able to lipread him just enough to have a light, superficial conversation. So we sat there and yakked a little. But still no interpreter... finally, twenty minutes later, we decide he'll go ahead and call and see what's up with the interpreter. We head upstairs, and on the way we bump into another dentist-to-be. My fella says something to me, and of course, I go, "Huh?" In jumps the newbie, who immediately *signs* back to me, doing an impromptu interpreting stint. I'm a bit surprised, then thank him. I hadn't noticed it before, but he sports a white t-shirt with "I LOVE NY" on it; but instead of the usual heart, there's an ILY sign there...
Then when the interpreter finally shows, and we get me settled in the Chair of Pain, the supervising dentist comes down to see me and check my teeth out and make sure my guy's treatment plan is what it should be. This teacher sees me and the interpreter, smiles, and signs, "How are you?" That's two people so far who know how to sign. I know whoever actually sees these guys out in the professional world are going to be lucky to have a dentist that is able to communicate with them!
Today was yet another filling, this time accompanied by five shots. Actually, two shots and three medicinal drips, where the plunger was pushed, but not the needle, and lovely, yummy, foul-tasting numbing agents were drizzled onto my gums, my teeth, my tongue, my taste buds, my throat...
I get the clamp and dental dam treatment again, and away we go. What differentiated this time from last time is that again we have a struggle to get the rubber dam in place several times, with the end result being that while drilling is taking place, the novocaine has worn off... and I *feel* the damn drill!
OUCH. As much as I hate the damn shots, I'm very, very glad I am living *now*, and not having the misfortune of living decades or centuries ago when the concept of dental care was going to the blacksmith, hanging on for dear life, and having pincers applied to the offending tooth.
Thus the five administrations of numbing sensations to my teeth. Joy, joy, joy. Eventually, the old filling is tossed, the area cleaned, the new filling poured in, and I'm sent on my way. I get the pleasure of another visit right before Thanksgiving. Even though I told my dental student to limit the shots to two, I think I'll just take whatever I end up getting, as long as I don't feel the drill again...
posted by Mr. Sandman | 7:00 PM
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