Humor Me!

I needed to go myself because our regular dentist had tossed his business shingle out the window after he removed two of his fingers with a band saw. For some reason, he felt that a dentist should have fingers to perform acceptable dentistry. The only thing I required was that he not drop the drill in my mouth while it was set at full speed. I thought it might sort of sting, after it made loose hamburger out of my tongue and cheeks.

When I saw the new dentist I stopped mid-stride and stared. He shook hands with me and flashed the most beautiful Hollywood-handsome smile ’d ever seen. He was the poster boy for Crest, Colgate and Gleam toothpaste combined. Just shaking his hand would rid you of dry mouth, gingivitis and hoof and mouth disease.

I made an emergency appointment for the next day. You could never predict when an emergency might appear and I wanted to be ready. And I didn’t need John with me either. I thought maybe he could rearrange his sock drawer or something.

Dr. DDH (Drop-Dead-Handsome) walked into his state-of-the-art dentist’s room, shook my hand firmly and put his hands on my face.

"Omigosh, he’s gonna kiss me!" I thought and quickly closed my eyes to pucker up.

"Open wide," he said gently while my heart pounded in rapturous rhythm. This man doesn’t waste any time. Either that or I’d seen too many movies on TV lately.

Suddenly, he stuck a long-handled mirror in my mouth along with an ice pick and began poking around. So much for the kiss.

We discussed my age (or rather he discussed it because I refused to admit our 40-year age difference) and my need for some rather drastic surgical procedures, chief among them the insertion of three metal posts in my lower jaw.

When he revealed it would require many visits to his office and more specifically to him, (thump-thump, my pounding heart), I quickly agreed to his agenda. I batted not an eye when he calmly announced the total price would be $11,200. (I am NOT making this up!) I would find a way to break the news to John in segments, Segment 1 resulting in the loss of my limbs and Segment 2, a visit to "ScalpsRUs" at the nearby Choctaw Indian Reservation. John has always had this thing about monetary shortages. I just don’t get it.

I needed to get my hair styled, a manicure, a pedicure, a facial and some new outfits before next week’s visit when he would insert the posts. Assuring me it was practically painless, I almost forgot my trusty Valium that I carry around for such social occasions as these.

On the Big Day, escorted into Dr. DDH’s inner sanctum, I looked at a table with roughly 400 dental instruments on it. "Are all these for me?" I giggled as I settled into a black recliner. "I felt like an innocent sheep getting ready for slaughter. A pleasant slaughter, he had assured me.

He shook my hand again and smiled broadly (Cheshire cat-like) at his attending nurse. Something in me said, "Uh oh" but I remained calm.

"Open wide" he ordered and this time I knew his remark was not even remotely romantically linked.

Using a two-foot long horse needle, he pumped three quarts of Lidocaine local anesthesia into my lower jaw at various angles. I grabbed the arms of my chair to squelch my hasty ascent to the ceiling.

Calling out terms like Scalpel, Scissors, Screwdriver, Hammer, Chain Saw, Power drill, wrench, probes and bulldozers, his nurse handed them to him efficiently and to my way of thinking, a bit too eagerly.

Dr. DDH inadvertently drilled a hole through my jaw and quickly plugged it with a cork of the exact size. Blood was squirting so fast that the 5-gallon suction machine had to be emptied several times and I was still swallowing enough Type A to later give myself and my neighbors several transfusions.

By now, I became suspicious that Dr. DDH was actually enjoying this torture while my knuckles lost their protective skin and my face was contorted into a grotesque medieval caricature of myself.

He began drilling to place the first post when suddenly the instrument broke off in the dark, bleeding caverns of my mouth.

"Well, I never had this happen before," he chortled. He instructed his nurse to phone the dental supply house and have another instrument delivered "pronto". (His words; not mine.) I would have said "forthwith or I’ll send the local Mafia to do bad things to your awesomely fast Saleen S7 Twin Turbo car which sells for $670,000."

After a 45-minute wait on an increasingly uncomfortable recliner, the small but expensive piece of titanium arrived by courier. In the interim, my opinion of Dr. DDH had changed from drooling admiration to frightening suspicion.

He hurriedly pounded the first post into place, screwed it in tightly with an electric drill and began suturing the open cuts he had inflicted upon me. I began thinking $$ and lawyers and sympathetic juries in a courtroom drama that would net me several million just in pocket change alone.

I looked up at this Nazi war criminal, Dr. Adolf Eichmann, and his cold, sadistic, tyrant Nurse Ratchet and wondered how many pair of scissors they had left in my open wounds.

Finally, finally, finally came the words I had begged God to let me live long enough to hear: "We’re done."

We shook hands and I departed from Hitler’s Horror House to my car where John was waiting, full of empathy and understanding.

"It went great, darling," I murmured against his shoulder, while he patted my arm and marveled at my courage and bravery.

"Can we uh maybe uh talk about the price of all this now, honey?" I asked with feigned exhaustion. I knew how sympathetic John always was to my tortured and prolonged pain.

How well was the news of an $11,200 dentist bill received by John?

Try welcome as horse flies on a wedding cake!

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