Identity crisis at the dentist


Random Thursday
       regular cleaning scheduled
*Zoom whitening scheduled for the next week.

“soon I will have Farrah teeth!”

I snuggle into the dentist’s chair like Darla. Paper bib.



The assistant poked at my teeth and gums and took HD xrays.

She and the dentist pointed out periodontal disease

on the HD computer screen.

Nothing quite like a 20-something assistant pointing out your bone loss in HD.

“I measured a lot of ‘5’s’ on your gums!” she beamed.


“we can do a deep laser cleaning and get all the BACTERIA……..

….MARS. basically, your mouth has more life forms than MARS.”

or something.

Then the estimate came.
$1,000 for the deep cleaning
$600 for the crown

When I was working outside the home, I wouldn’t have batted an eye at the cost.

My schedule as a petroleum geologist was insane. Making it to the dentist EVER was a miracle. I would have said “do it.”

Then I remembered an agreement with my husband:
“anytime we might spend over $300, communicate”.

So I texted.

Him: “”Let’s discuss.”

Me: “I’m in the chair.

with the bib….

At first I was panicked.

I felt tears welling…

Convinced the sky would fall on and my teeth out of me.

I would look like a shriveled apple witch and no one would ever love me still. (The English is crap here but my mouth is MARS and soon I will be homeless!)


Him: “$1,000 is LOT of money.”

I agreed, thinking about that hour I spent at Plato’s Closet to get $12.


I have LOADS of it now. I’m still the same person-naturally curious, scientist, problem solver, teacher and writer.

What I do is just different now. 

I don’t have an income per se, and I still get that “OMG you died” look from those who knew me in my career. My financial contribution is DEFENSE with the work I do on budgeting, making our homes nice, shopping, cooking and planning when we entertain friends or large corporate groups as “Mrs. Hostess”.

He convinced me to please see his dentist.

Mrs. Hostess was still a bit on the ledge.

Me:”what if they do things ‘old school?'”

Him: “what do you mean?”

Me:”Like blaming me for plaque buildup when I floss every day and modern dentists know it’s genetic.”

Him: “What?”

Me: “My mean old dentist, Mrs. Badcrumble, would blame me and tell me to floss more. (’Next tahme yer ahn here deerie, Ahm gonna hook yer teeth to tha doorrrknoob’)”

Common sense then took over and I realised I had TIME to get a second opinion.

So, I let them know we decided on getting a second opinion and got out of the chair and almost walked out with my paper bib.

I phoned my husband’s dentist. They were very nice and set up the appointment.

Will keep you posted.

And my teeth in.


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