at the dentist
i made it a goal at the beginning of the year to start going to doctors for something other than not getting pregnant. although i hadn’t made any kind of concrete plans to move back home since moving abroad, whenever it came to doctors i always had the same thought. i’ll wait til i get back home.
going to the doctor in a foreign country requires a big leap of faith. that they will understand what the hell you are trying to tell them and you will understand what the hell they are trying to tell you. without anyone dying in the meantime.
starting off with the doctor list from the embassy – i knew they were good for something – i went through the different categories and picked random doctors in possibly relevant fields, scheduling appointments for every moment of free time during the next month.
shamefully, i don’t even remember the last time i went to the dentist. apparently it was before i got my nose ring because i would have remembered having to take it out for the x-ray.
i went regularly to the dentist for all of my life until moving from the states. my orthodontist watched me grow up and didn’t seem to mind that i wasn’t the smiling type, as long as i did when he was around so he could claim my orderly set of teeth. this cheerful man was the same man i vomited recently digested ice cream on when he tried to take an imprint. i just couldn’t replace him. i probably still think my teeth really belong to him and subconciously refused to let anyone else fiddle around in my mouth.
after the nose ring came out, the international sign for baby (semi-circle hand gesture over the stomach region) was made, and x-rays taken, i got to sit in the reclining chair, while behind me the dental assistant interrogated me.
the dentist came in and shoved his face in mine to say guten tag. a little too close for someone stuck in a reclining chair.
he stepped back dramatically and proceeded to commence his schtick, with the dental assistant, an observing doctor, and me still stuck in the chair as captive audience members.
where are you from? your german is very good. how do you speak german so well? did the american embassy send you?
i wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with my teeth but i didn’t really want to argue with a man who owns drills.
but i also didn’t want to be a part of any secret military US government dental experiments either.
finally, we got to my teeth. my last teeth as i affectionally called them in my oh-so-good german. sadly they will have to eventually go, the weisheitzähne.
like 80% of the population, there’s just not enough space in my mouth. and people say i have a big one…
the one above is the reason why i look like i got into a fight with mike tyson, except there are no bite marks. so i get the week off to pump myself full of antibiotics and eat meals from a straw. what a deal!