inflammation and tooth loss, and ….

inflammation and tooth loss, and we are here to do battle with it. There will be blood, of course, but that is what the water jet and the suction tube is for. Use these tools to suck up the saliva and blood as you are scraping off the tartar.” Ferguson noticed that at the mention of blood, several of the students paled a little, inhaled sharply and took a step back.

Then the teacher looked seriously at his class and he warned, “ Now don’t be afraid to scrape with some force. Tartar is stubborn and may have been building up on these teeth since the Carter administration.”

At this point, I imagined that a timid young lady would raise her hand and say,, “But, Mr. Ferguson, won’t all that digging under the gums hurt the patient?”

Mr. Ferguson would smile and say, “Of course, my dear, but it will only be an occasional twinge, and the patient will shrug it off. Don’t forget, if you really display some diligent, exuberant digging and scraping, the patient will think that you really are thorough and feel lucky that you are doing the job.” The class smiled back and nodded.

My daydream was interrupted as I realized that my hygienist had finished her scraping and jabbing torture, and I was very relieved.

Next came the actual cleaning and for this, she used a round, spinning brush and some strange tasting, gritty toothpaste.

She went over each tooth with the brush and paste, pressing down hard. However, I knew that no matter how hard she pressed with the brush, I would still have yellowish, old looking teeth at the end of the procedure —but by God, they would be clean!

Finally, she was almost through, but now came torture by dental floss as she patiently went over and around each and every tooth in my head with unflavored dental floss.

At times, the floss would get stuck in a crevice. My hygienist seemed to get angry at the stubbornness of the floss and she would then yank it out.

I was relieved when she put all her evil tools down on the tray and put my chair back into a sitting position.

She handed me a paper cup full of water and a suction cup device.

I rinsed my mouth out several times and spit into the suction cup which seemed offended as it took the water away very quickly with a loud gurgle. Then my hygienist took off my bib and at long last, I was done.

“See you next time!” my hygienist said cheerfully through her mask as she helped me to my feet. Then she ushered me out of her torture chamber and handed me my little plastic goody bag, as she did every time I came in. I knew that the bag was filled with boring things such as a tiny container of floss, a miniature tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush. Secretly, I always feel as if this little plastic bag is given to me as a reward for being such a brave little girl and hardly crying at all through the whole ugly procedure.

Then I stepped up to the counter and paid the bill for this bi-annual attack on my mouth. As the receptionist behind the glassed-in enclosure made my next appointment, I was fervently grateful that I wouldn’t have to worry about this ordeal again for another six months.