- The amount of potential germ contaminants makes my stomach churn.
- The hygienist I’m always scheduled with is a sadist.
Every time I walk back to the cleaning chair I cannot help but think about all the instruments, utensils, and contraptions that touch people’s mouths. Mouths that have bad breath, cavities, rotting teeth. Mouths that do who-knows-what-with-who-knows-who. All these implements are displayed on top a thin paper towel on a fingerprint laden metal tray. I was not allowed to see these devices being taken out of (what I hope to be) sterile packaging. Especially the mouth vacuum piece. How do I know she didn’t just use those same implements to extract a large wad of animal tissue from between someone’s molars? What assurance do I have that the mouth vacuum didn’t just suck out the blood infused saliva from some 65 year old who never flosses? I am also acutely aware of my hygienist and what she’s touching. She has gloves on her hands—presumably to protect my mouth from filth and germs—but then she adjusts the tv monitor, the light, the chair, and the doorknob before grabbing a supposedly sterile instrument and forcing my cheeks open to the walls. Hell, she may as well grab a booger and itch her pits before beginning to clean the tartar off my teeth. The whole event is enough to make me ask for a double dose of Xanax.
As if all of this wasn’t bad enough, this last time when the dentist came in to do his five second scan of my teeth, he rounded the corner already wielding one of those tiny metal mirrors, having just left a patient on the other side of the faux walls. As he’s poking his own dirty, latex clad finger around in my mouth, I get a glimpse of the mirror which, I swear…swear had smoodge on it. The reflection in that mirror was not clean and shiny as one might expect a mirror to be; no that mirror had some indiscriminate gack. If I could have receded farther into the chair and away from that nasty instrument coming towards my mouth, I would have done it. Or if I had any cojones at all I would have just asked him, “Hey, does your mirror have crap on it? Because that’s not going anywhere near my mouth, dentist. I want to see you disinfect that sucker or I’m outta here.” But I didn’t say that. I cringed and gagged and rinsed my mouth out with whiskey when I got home. The whole event makes me want to drink.
My Hygenist is a Sadist.
The best part about her is that she blames me for all the blood.