On going to the Dentist: Guest Post

Last updated on: November 3, 2015 at 12:30 pm by Anne Kennedy

On going to the Dentist: Guest Post 2015-11-03T12:30:01-04:00 Anne Kennedy

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

Those of you on facebook will know that I went to the dentist yesterday to have my teeth scaled. The good news is that I am here, a day later, still alive (although I wished very much, as I was reclining in agony, that I had been a terrorist and that I had some kind of interesting information to offer up to make the horror stop. Why, I asked myself, do we waterboard? Why don’t we scale teeth? Later I learned that other chosen people get to go through this horror with pain medication, but I, apparently, was outside of God’s mercy). The bad news is that she didn’t actually scale my teeth because I “couldn’t take it” and that she was referring me to a specialist. A helpful friend informs me that a “specialist” is just someone who can’t send me away. Being a specialist, they have to scale my teeth, one way or another. Anyway, as part of this ongoing series, I give you the detailed and horrific experiences of my mother. I encourage you, really, to read the whole post, long though it is, because it will not only tell you a lot about her and about dentistry in remote parts of the world (like France) but will give you a brief glimpse into my past. For example, I remember vividly the motorcycle incident, and the summer in France is one about which I could write whole volumes. Enjoy!

June, 2004
Portland, Oregon
From the Dentist’s Office: the News in detail
Bob and I have been delivered over to the dentist and her minions, like sinners for torment and woe, until we resolve to live a new life of flossing and brushing.
If ever a message creeping out of some dark hole in my past has a chance to repeat itself, it gets the chance while I’m gripping the sides of the dentist’s chair, mouth open in an unrelenting gag. And unlike the ever-popular message for an age where therapy is practically synonymous with salvation — (the message saying, “You need to feel good about yourself since God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life,”) — the message I’m hearing today says, “YOU ARE A BAD PERSON AND GOD IS VERY ANGRY!”
I have failed. I have done those things which I ought not to have done (twist off bottle caps with my teeth). I have not done those things which I ought to have done (floss daily — at the five times of prayer perhaps?). Oh miserable offender!
Of course no one in this office actually says anything in the way of condemnation. But the hygienist, ferreting around in my mouth like a squirrel, keeps referring to the significant number of “issues” going on among my teeth.
Like the molar tucked away back there, not causing me any trouble at the moment but harboring a rotten core. “Why not just pull it,” I wonder. “Half the population of the world has gaps in their teeth, so why should I not take the cheap, ugly way out and join the throng?” “Oh no,” she says. “The rest of your teeth will shift around and your bite will deteriorate.” “Great,” I think to myself. “If I don’t get a root canal and a crown on this one for the insignificant sum of $700, the world is going to worry that my bite is worse than my bark.”
“Hmmm….” murmurs the dentist, poring over an X-ray. “Was there ever a trauma to these two front teeth?”
An old memory floats to the surface. If I could reply through this numb, dumb, lopsided leer, I could tell her a thing or two about those teeth.
“I fell off a motorcycle,” I whisper.
“I thought so,” she says. “These two teeth are dead and brittle, and could snap off at any time.”
“Wonderful,” I groan, remembering a long stretch of road in southeastern Mali, at the end of a hot day sometime back in the 1980s. Bob, four-year-old Anne and I were precariously flying along, dodging potholes on a moped (the universal Malian family “car” on two wheels). Bob was in front steering. I was dangerously balanced on the back clutching an unexpected gift of three pineapples and a jug of drinking water. Anne was sandwiched in between us in a child’s backpack. We were an accident waiting to happen, when a flock of sheep heading away from the road suddenly turned and made a leisurely crossing in front of us. Bob pulled steadily on the brakes, and we were nearly at a dead stop when the sheep, having safely reached the other side of the road now turned back with the apparent intention of leading us into town. One of them clipped the front wheel and over we went. So there we were, rolling about among smashed pineapples, bounding bleating sheep, and a crowd of sympathetic bystanders all rushing to the rescue.
My face was the first part of me to meet the road. I came up with a mouthful of blood and a new angle to consider. My front teeth were bent back like strange, wobbly fangs, and there was no way to do anything about it until morning. I wasn’t even sure if there was a dentist in the local town.
Next morning however, Bob took me to the hospital in Sikasso, where someone claiming to be a dentist ushered me into his lair. He wore a lab coat that might once have been white. The room itself might once have been properly equipped with dental furniture. There was the chair. Ribbons of black vinyl indicated that once it had been well upholstered. There was even the metal arm-thing that used to hold instruments of dental torture, but they had gone the way of vandals. Flies rose and resettled on little piles of excrement in the corners of the room. This wasn’t just a has-been dentist’s office. It was somebody’s latrine.*
“Bonjour, Madame,” the man in the coat said politely. “What can I do for you?” I pointed to my mouth. “Ah, oui,” he said. “But as you see, although I studied dentistry in Paris, I have no equipment. It has all been spoiled.” I could see that, and was about to beat a retreat and think of a new plan when he inserted me into the chair, gripped the back of my teeth with his thumbs, and snicked them into something like their former place. I staggered around, said thank you, that would be fine, and what did I owe him. “O Madame, rien (nothing) except what occurs to you as a gift.” I searched my pockets, bestowed the contents on him, and fled.
That was a long time ago. True I went around with a jagged grin, but the years passed by, and all was quiet. Until the summer of 1993, when Bob and I were teaching linguistics and anthropology in Lamorlaye, France, just north of Paris.
For three months we lived in what had formerly been the stables of a chateau (now a college), and summer school was proceeding at a stately, untroubled pace when I woke up one morning to a searing headache and a shaft of pain in my mouth. The August sun, fingering its way through a crack in the window, stabbed me in the eyes just exactly at the moment when my two front teeth went into serious decline.
France. August. What could possibly be wrong with this picture? I called the dentist, and got the messagerie which said in essence, “We can’t come to the phone right now. Please call back in September” (meaning: when we get back from our holidays on the Riviera).
Of course. How stupid of me. In the middle of summer school I forgot that all of France goes on holiday during August. Everyone, in every town, except one pharmacist, one baker, and possibly one doctor goes to the sea or the mountains. But by September we were expected back in Africa. I couldn’t stand it!
After a few days the intense pain disappeared to be replaced by no feeling at all, so when September came and we went back to Africa, I figured that dead teeth just stood in place like marble tombstones marking the spot.
This view is not shared by dentists.
“You are going to loose these two front teeth,” my dentist says. “The only question is when. They could snap off at the gum anytime. There are, however, some possible ways to save your smile. One solution would be a bone graft and implants, a procedure which takes a year to complete.”
“And probably $10,000,” I think wretchedly to myself. “There is no way I can sit around in America for another year and spend sums I don’t have.”
“A second approach would be to pull these teeth, do root canals on either side, and cement in a fixed bridge, which could look very nice.”
“It would HAVE to look nice to the tune of $4,000.” I am full of despair and woe.
“Or,” continues the dentist, “we could fit you with a flipper” (a thingamyjig with two fake teeth and some sort of hardware to grab the roof of the mouth). The thought fills me with horror. “Flipper” is such an unfortunate word, suggesting that it regularly flaps and flies out of the mouth when one is in polite company.
In the end I’ve opted to do nothing for now about these two front teeth except PRAY — and take the path of Gideon with his fleece. If you remember Gideon, he wasn’t quite sure if he’d heard correctly when God told him to go smite down the Midianites. He was a timid man and kept saying, “Could you repeat that, please?” hoping that he’d heard wrong. Eventually, just to be sure, he put a piece of wool on the ground overnight, and told God that if the wool was sopping wet in the morning and the ground was dry, this would help him figure out if God was serious or not. And having come up the next morning with wet wool and dry ground, he begged God not to loose his temper but just once more give him a sign: if after another night in the open air the wool was totally dry and the ground was wet, then he Gideon would know that there was no way to avoid the whole Midianite debacle.
Me – I’ve decided that if my two front teeth start to chip and break up in the next couple of weeks, then clearly something has got to be done at once. But if not, then surely I can trust God to preserve them from all evil — or at least all breakage — for another couple of years.
So for now, the dentist has got to be content getting away with thousands of dollars on deep cleaning, fillings, and that root canal way in the back.
The key thought – “surely I can trust God” — is not unreasonable. Where else can we go but to God when life becomes impossible, or when we tumble into ridiculous and even dangerous situations?
We can trust God because — well — because Goodness and Mercy keep following us day after day, and our cups keep on running over with gifts and prayers, love and laughter.

Uncategorized

going to the dentist

Previous Post

January 11, 2010

And you thought the season of giving was over

Next Post

January 18, 2010 Seriously, its so awesome

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category books Catechesis of the Good Shepherd Children in Conversation culture watch Daily Devotions Demotivations with Anne faith alone for the grandparents GAFCON In conversation with children In the News Kitchen Notes Lambeth Learning Notes Life Going On Men are Human Notes from Home Pictures Reading the Bible Saturday Links Sermons Signs of the Apocalypse The Bad Word Association The Prayer of Jonah Travel Notes Uncategorized Witless Wednesdays Work and the Christian

Select a Month June 2024 May 2024 April 2024 March 2024 February 2024 January 2024 November 2023 October 2023 September 2023 August 2023 July 2023 June 2023 May 2023 April 2023 March 2023 February 2023 January 2023 December 2022 November 2022 October 2022 September 2022 July 2022 May 2022 April 2022 March 2022 February 2022 January 2022 December 2021 November 2021 October 2021 September 2021 August 2021 July 2021 June 2021 May 2021 April 2021 March 2021 February 2021 January 2021 December 2020 November 2020 October 2020 September 2020 August 2020 July 2020 June 2020 May 2020 April 2020 March 2020 February 2020 January 2020 December 2019 November 2019 October 2019 September 2019 August 2019 July 2019 June 2019 May 2019 April 2019 March 2019 February 2019 January 2019 December 2018 November 2018 October 2018 September 2018 August 2018 July 2018 June 2018 May 2018 April 2018 March 2018 February 2018 January 2018 December 2017 November 2017 October 2017 September 2017 August 2017 July 2017 June 2017 May 2017 April 2017 March 2017 February 2017 January 2017 December 2016 November 2016 October 2016 September 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 May 2016 April 2016 March 2016 February 2016 January 2016 December 2015 November 2015 October 2015 September 2015 August 2015 July 2015 June 2015 May 2015 April 2015 March 2015 February 2015 January 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014 September 2014 August 2014 July 2014 June 2014 May 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 January 2014 December 2013 November 2013 October 2013 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012 September 2012 August 2012 July 2012 June 2012 May 2012 April 2012 March 2012 February 2012 January 2012 December 2011 November 2011 October 2011 September 2011 August 2011 July 2011 June 2011 May 2011 April 2011 March 2011 February 2011 January 2011 December 2010 November 2010 October 2010 September 2010 August 2010 July 2010 June 2010 May 2010 April 2010 March 2010 February 2010 January 2010 December 2009 November 2009 October 2009 September 2009 August 2009 July 2009 June 2009 May 2009 April 2009 March 2009 February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 September 2008 August 2008 July 2008 June 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007 May 2007 April 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 December 2006 November 2006 October 2006

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

Which prophet challenged the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Elijah Jonah Isaiah Elisha

Books by This Author Books by Anne Kennedy

See All Titles »