As I approach my 21st birthday I slowly realize that I am becoming an, eeek, adult. The mere thought terrifies me. I am, after all, the girl whose life goal is still to be the Little Mermaid and I want a crown for my birthday. Safe to say that the idea of being an adult terrifies me but today I am even more scared. Why? Because today is my first visit to the “big kid” dentist. My entire life I have gone to the kiddie dentist but apparently they can’t treat you once you’re 21 so alas I must venture to the terrifying place of a dentist’s office without toys, kites on the ceiling, and numerous copies of Highlights magazine. I wake up on this doomed day having not been able to sleep out of fear and the fact that I literally CANNOT breathe. Seriously, I am so stopped up that I feel like the Hoover Dam releases every time I sneeze. So alas I get ready to head to the dentist. I have only ever been to one dentist in my entire life and have known this man since I was 3 so embarking on a journey with a new person poking around in my mouth is terrifying. He was the same dentist who cured my fear of going his office when I realized that routine cleanings weren’t nearly as horrible as when I had to go to him for orthodontic check-ups that involved lots of wire and pain but, natch, colorful rubber bands. I was so comfortable with my old dentist- they practically knew everything about me- so going to someone new is utterly terrifying and I feel just like I did when I was a kindergartener on my way to my first day of school. I even want my mommy. I have tried to make myself look awake and refreshed this morning despite the way I feel so that I make the best possible impression on these new people entering into my life. I put on a cute but comfy outfit that makes me look at least 18 (which is an accomplishment) and meticulously brush and floss my teeth. Yes I know it’s a bit like working out before going to the gym so you look better in your cute new work out clothes but first impressions matter, especially in matters of oral care. I am nothing but a perfectionist so arriving at the dentist with sparkling teeth is essential. Unfortunately, my perfectionist nature means that I am also terrified of having unsightly, un-perfect teeth- even if no one else would notice. Cavities have always been one of my biggest fears (coming in only slightly behind snakes, failing grades, and evil personified in clay- Gumby) so the mere thought of having one nearly sends me into panic mode. The entire week before my appointment I have been brushing far more than necessary to ensure that I don’t loose my membership into the exclusive “No fillings” club and that I make the best possible first impression upon a dentist who knows my family and if my previous dental experience is any indication, I am going to be with these people for a while.
I get in my car on a dreary Tuesday morning to head to the office of my new dentist armed with my new insurance card and $60 cash from my dad (also known as the man who fears all checks and has written maybe 5 of them in his life). The office is the cutest little house that looks absolutely charming and I walk in feeling much better about the situation. I fill out my information and nearly panic about writing down previous hospitalizations. Sure, my head trauma because I fell off the counter as a baby hasn’t affected me at all (really) and probably has nothing to do with my oral health but I want to be thorough so I put it down anyway. That said I feel like they don’t need to know that I suffer from OCD a- I don’t want to freak these people out after all. I am reading my drop-dead, laugh out loud, utterly hilarious new book in a desperate attempt to keep my mind off the impending doom and chat with a sweet lady from my church about how ridiculous college schedule are and have almost forgot where I am when the dental hygienist calls my name. I feel like I am walking to my death although my head is so heavy that I may as well be. Let’s just say that that hygienist was probably very grateful for that small paper mask protecting her from my germs. I sit down in the chair of horror and look at all the high tech equipment surrounding me. I was used to kites on the ceiling and toys in the corner. This was going to be a long day. After taking my x-rays (I was a bit disappointed they didn’t call them pictures), we begin the torture. The hygienist is as cute as she can be and she tells me about her children while she meticulously scrapes my teeth with some form of twisted metal that makes me want to run and go get my Pinky bear. I have never experienced this particular kind of painless torture before but I still look to make sure she isn’t getting too much junk off my teeth- doesn’t look too bad but I’m no expert so I’m still terrified. When she finishes and tells me that my teeth look great, I sheepishly smile and ask her what on earth she was doing to my teeth. Apparently, that whole teeth scraping thing is routine and is nothing to sneeze at (literally) and anyway my teeth look great so it doesn’t matter. Whew. First crisis averted. And now to the cleaning. I get cookie dough polish (they have more flavors than my kiddie dentist which means I’ve been getting gypped my whole life) but it doesn’t matter because like I said, I can’t smell anything so it may as well be utter lack of sense of smell flavor. She finishes the cleaning and declares I have beautiful teeth (HOORAY) and that the dentist will be in shortly. This is my final hurdle in my big adventure because dentists are always the ones who announces the dreaded expulsion from the “No Cavity” club so I am still somewhat (read absolutely) scared.
My dentist comes in and he is the most adorable little old man I have ever seen. He is just presh and makes me wish he was my grandpa. This man even has cute little old-fashioned glasses he uses to look at my teeth. He is perfect and I could get used to having to go to the big people dentist. He does that little poking and prodding thing all dentists do and then announces that I have great teeth! Alas, my membership to the “No Fillings” club is intact and I can go home with the knowledge that the world’s most adorable old man thinks my teeth are pretty. I head out with a spring in my step and a turquoise toothbrush (my favorite color) and the knowledge that I have completed my first big adult-like appointment. I feel accomplished and naturally decide that I need a new pair of fabulous shoes to celebrate my survival of doing something that most people wouldn’t think twice about doing. Unfortunately, I’m a poor college student so instead I head back to my trusty Facebook account to announce to the world that I have successfully completed my first visit to the big people dentist and read up on a little Perez Hilton. And now, with my 21st birthday less than 2 weeks away, I begin to prepare to work up the nerve to order my first legal drink (when they will no doubt think I am 17) and cement the fact that I am no longer 5 like I think I am. But I still want those Ariel cupcakes and crown at my birthday.
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