In Touch With My Hallmark Self

You taught me the way

To tie my shoe,

Which I often use

When I come to see you.

*     *     *

Though roles may change

With passing time,

You’ll always be

My Valentine.

Happy Valentine's Day, Mom!

Teeth

They lied to me.

I distinctly remember a dentist coming into my third grade classroom and showing the before-and-after-eating-chocolate-cake movie.  “Eeeeyoooouuu,” we all squealed seeing the open mouth after eating the cake.  But post brushing, there were teeth in there, and there was nothing left resembling the confection we all desired.  Then the dentist demonstrated the proper technique for tooth brushing on a giant set of choppers with a correspondingly large tooth brush.  “You don’t want your teeth to fall out, do you?  If you brush every day the way I showed you, you’ll never have a problem with your teeth,” and then he smiled a big toothy grin to prove his point.

Good dental health also makes you a good dancer.
Or maybe not.  Is he stepping on her foot?

I knew that I’d be gumming my oatmeal by the fourth grade unless I cleaned up my act.  So I resolved to make absolutely sure there was never any chocolate cake hiding between my molars.  Or M&Ms.  Or anything else.

This preventive program worked out well for many years.  I did the hard work of diligently brushing, and my family kept the dentist solvent with checkups and occasional fillings.  

Then came college years.  By Thanksgiving of my freshman year, my whole mouth hurt, and my gums were a lovely shade of scarlet.  “Just back from school, eh?" asked the dentist.  "Been eating a lot of pizza?”

“Why yes, I have, but what does that have to do with anything?  I’ve been brushing regularly, and that’s the guarantee for good dental health, right?”

“Well, no.  You have to eat right, too.  A balanced diet is essential to good dental health.  And if your teeth aren’t happy, the rest of your body won’t be happy, and there’s no way you’ll be happy.”

I got the message.  “OK, pizza no more than 5 nights per week,” I promised myself, “and one of those pies will have peppers and onions so I’m sure to get my vegetables.”

They almost look like toes, don't you think?
And look at how far they reach up into my head!

This plan worked out pretty well until I finally got out of school (it was a long process).   I went out into the cold cruel world and realized that academic stress is overrated.  Wondering how you’re going to pay for your next meal is far and away more stressful.  And handling real stress is more difficult than my previous technique of having an extra beer with my pizza.

But I thought I was handling it pretty well until my jaw joint started hurting.  I could not figure out what was going on, so I went to a dentist in the burg where I found myself.  

“You have very nice teeth,” he said, “for a 60 year old man.”

 “What?  I’m 26...”  And 60 is beyond ancient, I thought.

“You are grinding your teeth, and you have them worn down to a level well beyond what is expected for your age.  You’ll have to wear a mouthguard.”

“But I don’t play football, and I don’t believe I grind my teeth.”

“I don’t play games either, and you probably do your grinding at night.  I’ll make a mold of your teeth, and then we’ll make an expensive plastic thing that will keep you from grinding all night and will taste really bad unless you clean it regularly.  Come back next week and we’ll do the deed.”

Great.  Just great.  I went back to my apartment and looked at my teeth in the mirror.  Are they really looking that old?  And if they are, how can I trust any teeth over 30?  And I brush regularly, so what could possibly be wrong?

I went back to work the next day thinking I would not be going back to the dentist.  No way I grind like he says.  And this guy is adding to my stress.  My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something like marbles rubbing together.  What’s that?  What is that noise?

I had caught myself grinding.  Whether or not it was due to the additional stress inflicted by the man with the drills, I went back and got the mouthguard.  

The white blobs are ancient fillings of massive proportion.
I've been funding the dental industry for years.

Years later, I learned to relax a little better, and the guard joined the universal trend toward entropy.  But a visit to yet another dental office provided a meeting with a particularly forceful hygienist who insisted that the only way to heaven was through flossing.  “You must floss regularly!  Flossingness is next to Godliness.  I’ll show you how.”  Five minutes later, by mouth was raw and bleeding.  

“What’s this?” I asked, spitting blood into the swirly water dish that is required equipment for all dental professionals. 

“That is proof that your gums are weak and about to drop all your teeth onto the floor.  You must floss, girly man.  REGULARLY!  Here, take this starter roll.”  

I grabbed the nautical mile of raw floss with both hands and bounded out of the office as quickly as the extra weight would allow.  I was worried she would tie me to the chair with another length of the stuff and teach me what “regularly,” meant.  It was years before I realized that wax and flavoring can ease the pain somewhat.

So that’s the background.  

Several dentists and hygienists later, my wife, Mary, advised me that our current professional dental firm was not providing the necessary services as proficiently as we might like.  She was having some issues, and decided to get a fresh start with a different dentist.  “I need to leave the care of Drillem, Fillem and Billem.  At the very least, I need to find someone whose hands don’t stink of cigarette smoke.”  Can’t argue with that.  

Mary reported that she was happy with her care, so I decided to try the new office.  Dropping into the examination station, I knew right away that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.  The munchkins were happy, cracking jokes as they worked.  The wizard and assistant kept up a constant banter, allowing my participation through rudimentary hand signals.  I was pleased to find that the most used one was thumbs-up.  And there were no impossible-to-answer-with-hand-signals questions, like, “So tell us, Mr. Fredlund, how is it that you have arrived here with teeth in a nearly 100 year-old condition?”  There is only one hand gesture that can answer such a question, and I’m much too polite to use it, especially when someone is standing over me with weapons of destruction.

It was light and entertaining conversation, distracting and enjoyable even as implements of dentistry worked inside my open mouth.  Never mind the fact that the dentist looked much like Locutus of Borg while working with vision-enhancing filtered optics in place. 

"You will be examined.
Resistance is futile."

This was the best dentistry experience I ever had, even with the lame fifth-grade level jokes of the type I am also guilty of telling.

“Why did the dentist cross the road?”

“ OK, tell me.  I’ll bite.”

And they sang.  They went off on riffs from semi-obscure songs, dating themselves and laughing at their own silliness.  I realized that if I ever needed a root canal, it would be complete with singing gondoliers.

Beyond the entertainment value, obtaining new dental care is a really good thing.  From years of chewing ice and making that rubbing marbles sound, my teeth are literally falling apart.  

There is supposed to be a mass of tooth to the left of that filling.

A chunk of molar disengaged when attacked by the blob (also known as chewing gum).  A month later, another chunk departed while encountering stiff resistance from a cheese sandwich.  Perhaps I need to consume cheddar varieties that are less sharp.  

A chunk of tooth, tastefully displayed amid implements of destruction.
I hope you don't have crack lines like these in your teeth.

It’s gotten to the point where I've put my dentist on my favorites list.  I’ve scheduled regular monthly appointments so that instead of the standard “call for appointment,” I call when I DON’T need to come in.  Oh well.  Ya do whatchya gotta do.

I'll call you.

So that's the status.  All is not exactly where I'd like it to be, but I'm addressing the folly of youth as best I can, relying on the skill and knowledge of my current dentist, who is not afraid to provide guidance.  After my first checkup was over, as I prepared to depart the comfy chair, I was asked, “Did you feel any pain as I worked?”

“Only when you were singing.”

“YOU MAY LEAVE, MR. FREDLUND!!!”