1) When I am five, my mother’s dentist gives me a little vial of mercury to play with: “See, it’s metal and it’s liquid!” I love how the silvery substance slinks as I tilt the glass. “Is that safe?” my mother asks. “Of course it is,” the dentist replies. “It’s what we put in your mouth.”
2) While I'm in high school, my dentist—whose office is attached to his suburban home—is rumored to be having an affair with his hygienist. Then we hear he is getting divorced. My next bill is much higher than usual; the itemization lists, for the first time, “double” cavities.
3) A few months after college, the pain in the back of my mouth is excruciating. I don’t have a dentist or the money to pay for one. I could probably acquire both within a few days, but the pain is excruciating. I hear about a free dental clinic in the East Village. The dentist I am assigned to has hair down to his shoulders. Janis Joplin blasts in the background. “That’s gonna have to come out,” he says, “but we’re not allowed to pull teeth during the same visit that we tell you. You’ll have to come back.” “I’m sure now.” He looks in my mouth again and says, “You know, I could really get off on pulling this tooth.” He pulls, and for many years when I hear Janis sing “take another piece of my heart,” I really feel our pain.
4) Dental Pedagogy: I am in the chair with the assistant’s finger in my mouth. The dentist says, “Bite down,” and I do. Right on her finger. The dentist says to his assistant, “When I tell him to bite down, you need to take your finger out.” Three lessons here, applicable to the writing workshop:
- You must pay attention to everything, even if you are not being directly addressed, because you never know what might affect you.
- Unlike what I did, consider the implications of what someone says before you act on it.
- Someone can get hurt.
5) More Dental Pedagogy: I used to have a dentist who made me feel guilty for being in the very condition that I was paying him to deal with. I go to a new dentist and sheepishly open my mouth. He smiles and says, “You need me!” Two lessons here for the writing workshop:
- Don’t get annoyed at writing you feel is deficient. Your attitude should be: “You need me!”
- Don’t be hesitant to bring in a piece that you know has problems. Open wide.
6) I see my dentist standing alone away from the crowd in the lobby of a sold-out memorial tribute to a writer who used to be his patient. “I can’t get in,” he tells me sadly, and I return a minute later with a comp ticket from my friend who is hosting the event. “What is it you do?” he asks in a tone approaching awe.
7) I am the last patient on Friday afternoon. My dentist is fine-tuning the crown before cementing. He inserts, removes, files, and reinserts several times, trying to get it just right. “How does it feel now?” he asks, and I say it still hurts. He convinces me to live with it for the weekend. “I don’t want to file too much,” he says with a patient smile. "If it still hurts next week I can file some more with it glued." In the waiting room I do an about-face and re-enter. My dentist has removed his smock and eyeglasses. He is wearing a tank T-shirt. He squints at me as I say, “I’m pretty sure it’s going to hurt!" and he blurts out, “You’re driving me crazy!"
8) I arrive ten minutes early for a 2 p.m. checkup. Several people are in the waiting room. In my discreet sweep of the room—no eye contact—I sense familiarity, which doesn’t surprise me as I have been coming here for many years. At 2 p.m., a man stands up and enters the office area without being called, followed by the others. The last woman to leave the waiting room turns to me and says, “Come on in, Mr. Ziegler,” and, as I do, I see that the man has put on a white smock and become my dentist.
9) I’ve only heard about this: Benny Hill has a bit with dentists toasting by clinking glasses, swishing, and spitting.
10) While my dentist waits for his assistant to join us for a procedure, we start exchanging reminiscences, having lived through some common times. Eventually he realizes the assistant has been in the room for several minutes. “Stories,” he explains to her with a sweet, wan smile. “Stories.”