Sunny Side Up: I never did enjoy dental appointments

By Kathleen Gibson

“I’d like dentures, please.” I would have gotten on my knees, but I had a lead weight on my chest.

“Nah,” the dentist responded, after the technician removed the grey bib and he’d inspected my X-rays. “You’re nowhere needing those. It would be like buying a house with a few bad windows, so you decided to tear it down and build a new one instead.”

Well. When you put it that way. But I didn’t like the alternatives either. Bridges. Implants. Lots of metal wires. Removals. Torture all along, I felt.

I’ve disliked dental appointments ever since childhood traumas involving a brutal dentist who had no clue how to treat children. As the years passed, each appointment, especially with a new dentist, brought panic. (Though in truth, I’ve traumatized a few dentists themselves with my reactions to their treatments.)

Reluctantly, I’ve visited several dentists since Dr. Jack died. Gentle Jack, a teddy bear of a man I came to trust. A man I considered a friend after almost three decades of his treatments.

So last week, in a different practice for a necessary extraction, I settled in the chair, plugged in my earbuds and tapped my classical music app. Trying to fully relax, understand, while knowing my blood pressure was already high. And that in a few minutes heavy machinery, operated by a tiny person less than half my age would have its way inside my mouth.

Calming music filled my senses. Just before the machines started up, I looked down to see the name and composer of the piece. Horrified, I held the screen up to show the dentist and technician.

Come, Sweet Death, by J.S. Bach. Our mutual chuckle, slightly uneasy, helped me. I think.

It took over an hour, and help from a second dentist, to yank that molar out. It exited in pieces. I don’t blame it. After most of a century, we were pretty attached to each other. Almost a week later, I’m still hurting. Still dreaming of dentures. And grateful that the scheduled bridge construction won’t start for several months.

In Jesus’ day, it seems there were no dedicated dentists in his culture. Just physicians who used herbs and primitive tools. I wonder if he ever had a toothache. If he got cavities or had any teeth knocked out. I don’t know. Perhaps. He was fully human as well as fully God, after all. But I’m pretty sure of this. When J.S. Bach composed Come, Sweet Death, he was surely sitting in a dentist chair.

Sunny Side Up has inspired readers with glimpses of everyday life and Christian faith since 2001. Contact Kathleen at sunnysideup.press@gmail.com