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Leaving My Childhood Dentist
"I probably shouldn’t get all sentimental, but we have been seeing each other since I was three."
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By Ursula Mehl
Who knew that a toothache would ultimately force me into adulthood?
I’m almost 19 years old, but up until now I’ve still been going to see my childhood dentist. That changed after the last time I went in for a toothache. The tooth in question had been bothering me for about a week before I finally went to the dentist. The good news was I didn’t have a cavity. The bad news was it was time for me to move on to adult dentistry. I guess it was a reminder that I can’t be a kid forever.
I should have seen the warning signs: I no longer needed to use a stool to reach the sink (I would probably break one if I tried). I can’t fit into the little plastic chairs in the waiting room, and I would rather read People magazine than Highlights for Children. The dental assistants have stopped giving me stickers that say things like “cavity free- that’s me!” or “you did beary good” next to a picture of a smiling bear. I feel like I’m at least twice as old as all the other patients in the office.
I probably shouldn’t get all sentimental over leaving my childhood dentist, but we have been seeing each other since I was three. That’s a 15-year relationship come to an end. He’s a nice man with an impressive set of aloha shirts, but what I’ll really miss most is the toy box in his office. My younger sister stopped looking in there years ago, but I’ve kept going long after I could really use the toys. But being at the dentist just isn’t the same unless I can take home a plastic bracelet or one of those peel-away butterfly tattoos.
So in a couple of months I’ll go to an adult dentist for the first time. I’m not exactly looking forward to it. There won’t be any toy boxes or bear-themed stickers to reward me when I’m done. But then again, at least now I can get a full-sized toothbrush out of it.
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