the horror! (in my mouth)

I went to the dentist yesterday and everytime I go to the dentist (every four years or so) I have the distinct pleasure of visiting my dentist.

It's kind of an odd feeling. He and his wife were good friends of my parents when we all lived in Dauphin and they moved away sometime after (my memory as a two year old is not so great). We have pictures with them after they returned from a trip to Holland (I think?). Kurt's wearing some kind of Dutch boy thing and I'm wearing one of those little, white Dutch girl hats. You can tell by the smile on our faces that we were genuinly happy to see them again, and very comfortable with them. There's none of that forced-to-be-in-this-picture-with-adults-we-don't-really-remember-look that kids often have with people they don't really remember but are forced to be in a picture with anyway.

Anyhow, this all comes flooding back to me as I sit in the dentist chair with his fingers in my mouth. He's known me since I was born. He knew me before I knew him. Does he remember the Dutch hat? Does he remember the little boat cake we made for them that had mint lifesavers on it? Does he remember the time I stayed overnight at their place after my parents and brother had left and I was so proud of myself the next day because I hadn't wet the bed? Or on that same stay when I asked his wife to ask him if he could check my teeth for me when he got home from work and he did, while three year old little Corrie lay on the couch under the light of a living room lamp?

If he does remember, he doesn't let on. He casually asks me about how things are going, warns me about the health issues that are the result of gum disease, and tells me not to worry about it when I apologize for the profuse bleeding of my gums during the cleaning. He reassures me in his mild, gentle way, and sends me off. I walk to the front desk, half expecting my mom to be waiting in the waiting area. She isn't because I've long stopped having my mom drive me to appointments. I walk out into the snow and slush - a bizzare mixture of a three year old and thirty year old that only happens around people who have known you longer than you've known yourself.


beckster said...

I was at that same dentist not too long ago. Mom drove me, and I'm just coming to realize that was probably the last time I'll walk into the waiting room with her sitting there. It's times like these I feel no need to grow up.

pamero said...

Yeah, well my two year old memory leaves you in the dust! Yeah, right.
And, come to think of it, he is the nicest dentist I know (I know so many), why am I afraid to go back?