A Good Dentist

I’ve never been a die-hard fan of going to the dentist. I can’t imagine anyone who is and is still considered sane. It’s not because of anything that’s happened personally, but the horror stories stick with you—things like teeth being pulled without your mouth being numb enough or what about those women who find out they’re pregnant a few months later? So, when I woke up in severe pain, I kept it to myself for as long as I could. I didn’t want to go to the dentist. But the pain became unbearable, and pretty soon I had no choice. When I finally told my mom, she immediately called for an emergency appointment.

We arrived at the office, and the receptionist, Miss Hadley, greeted us in her usual way. “Hi, Jenny,” she said, her smile almost eased my nerves. “Are you ready to see Dr. Burley?”

“Not really. But I guess it’s gotta be done,” I murmured, forcing a smile at my mom, who patted my head like I was her prized poodle. I wanted to lick her hand as a joke—I was fifteen, not five, but it unnerved me when she treated me like I was a naïve little kid.

“We’ve got to take care of our teeth if we want them to take care of us,” my mom suddenly straightened up as if she’d just recited something profound and expected some sort of applause.

Miss Hadley gave a sympathetic smile, handing back the insurance card. “Go ahead and take a seat, Jenny. I’ll call you when Dr. Burley is ready to see you.”

I slouched in a chair, my eyes vacillating between watching my mom casually flip through magazines and mindlessly staring at the children’s program on tv. A few minutes later, a couple of twins were laughing as they slipped through the reception center waving cellophane bags, each had a toothbrush, toothpaste, a container of floss, and a pamphlet. Consolation prize?

Soon enough, Miss Hadley called me back. A nurse led me into Dr. Burley’s office and invited me to “get comfortable,” which seemed impossible even in the softest dental chair. She left, and I waited, checking out the sterile instruments laid out on a silver tray nearby. If they had been laid on a table beside medieval tools of torture, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

Dr. Burley finally came in, masked, his white coat had his name embroidered over his pocket in bold letters, which felt like a stamp you might see on “Grade A” beef, verifying it’s authenticity. We went through the usual uncomfortable cleaning routine—rinsing, squirting water, making my cheeks all puffy while I swooshed it around, and then suctioning it out, like some bizarre carnival game. Finally, they took x-rays, and that’s when they let me have it: I didn’t need a filling; the tooth needed to be extracted. It was rotten to the root.

Back in the waiting room, Dr. Burley explained the situation to my mom. They could do the procedure today, due to a cancellation. Normally, I wouldn’t consider this good news, but this is the exception.

I got as comfortable as I could in the chair and slid on the oversized headphones, watching Looney Tunes on a screen above the chair. As Dr. Burley prepared, his voice got loud enough that I could hear, “Medicine has come a long way. We even have scented nitrous oxide now. There’s watermelon, bubblegum, cherry, grape, and mint—though I wouldn’t recommend mint. Some people say it makes them sick.”

“Bubblegum sounds good,” I screamed over the volume, and he chuckled before giving an approving thumbs-up.

“This is Candy,” he said as a tall, thin blonde of her early twenties entered. “Most people think I’m joking, but that’s seriously her name. Funny, right?”

Candy hands lifted and her fingers tickled the air, her eyes became half moons, suggesting a smile under her mask, and she added, “Sugarfree.” I couldn’t even force myself to laugh as Dr. Burley pulled on a pair of medical gloves and gave his tools a once-over to ensure he had everything he needed. Somehow, with everyone else masked up, I felt weirdly like the odd ball out. Dr. Burley carefully placed the plastic mask over my nose, with a hose attached, and turned the handle until a sweet bubblegum scent filled my nostrils. I became sleepy immediately and vaguely remember mumbling, “Is this gonna hurt?”

He chuckled. “A good dentist never gets on your nerves.” A small comfort, I thought, as I drifted off.

When I finally came to, Dr. Burley was practically doubled over with his head in his hands not far away, muttering, “What will I tell his mother?”

“Um… doctor?” Candy’s voice was soft, her hand rested on his shoulder. “You mean her mother. Jenny’s a girl.”

“Oh, right.” Dr. Burley sighed, looking up at me, his skin was extremely pale. “The end result is the same, though. I can’t undo what’s been done.”

My mind wasn’t clear, and my vision still blurred as I blinked, trying to make sense of what they were even saying. My head felt stuffy, and my cheeks were totally numb. Finally, my eyes adjusted—and then I saw it. Blood. Dr. Burley’s white lab coat looked like a red monochrome rendition of a Jackson Pollock work. His wide variety of tools, lay in a basin filled with yards of unraveled blood-stained gauze.

“What… what’s wong?” my mouth wasn’t moving the way it should be. Dr. Burley’s face suddenly green as he stumbled to the sink and tossed his lunch with a gutteral gasp and a couple of splashes.

Candy approached, with a pitiful glance, “Unfortunately…”

Any sentence that starts with ‘unfortunately’ is never good, so I braced myself for more bad news.

“Unfortunately, the doctor had a pretty rough day,” she sighed, her voice barely able to be heard. “He… he accidentally pulled the wrong tooth.”

Moving to the counter, Candy grabbed a hand mirror and held it out to me. Dr. Burley, who’s wiping his mouth on a damp papertowel paused with the towel partially covering his face, glancing out his peripheral vision. 

I slowly lifted the mirror in front of my pale and swollen face. The mix of drool and blood trickled down my chin. I barely recognized myself. Afraid, but realizing I had to, I opened my mouth wider and looked… every tooth was gone.

Dr. Burley lowered the papertowel, eyes wet and mouth sagging, nervously attempting to appear pleased. “Well, look on the bright side, no need to brush!”

“Jenny! Jenny, wake up!” my mom’s voice jarred me from my nightmare. She was shaking my shoulder from the driver’s seat. “You fell asleep, sweetie. But we’re here.”

I practically shot up, my hands grabbing my seat and dashboard to steady myself. I listened as I snapped my teeth together in relief and my shoulders dropped in relaxation. “Holy crap,” I sighed, glad the dream was over, “Where are we going?”

She laughed. “To see the eye doctor, silly.”