Filling Time? No ….

It was time for my 6 monthly dental check up.

I used to have a morbid fear of dentists until my 6 year old son asked me, way back (he’s 38 now) why his teeth were checked but mine weren’t.

Then my son called me a wimp.

Not sure who taught him that word.

But it worked.

I got straight on the phone and booked that appointment but that’s another story.

Watch this space for that post.

I’ve been going for my 6 monthly dental check ups ever since and I’m calm.

I speak to my dentist about golf, about yoga, about anything.

He’s a really smooth guy.

Charismatic, great sense of humour, you know what I mean.

My wife loves him.

I’m sure she eats sweets so she has more visits.

He shakes my hand when I enter his consulting room.

He smiles.

He is genuinely interested in how I am doing.

The examination is comprehensive but quick.

“You’ve taken my advice about using that electric toothbrush” he smiles.

I try to smile back with a mouth full of dental mirror and half of his hand.

After the consultation I gave him some advice about his nagging backache (I asked him how he was doing, of course!) and told him to try yoga.

In 6 months time I’ll check whether he has acted on my advice too 😎

I’d never thought, all those years back, that I’d look forward to an update with a dentist.

He’s that good…

“I don’t do long numbers” …

The dentist waiting room upstairs in the surgery was quite empty.

Except for an old lady sitting opposite me chatting to a fellow patient who was about to go into the dentist for a check up.

The old lady had struggled up the three flights of steep stairs and was resting, breathless, on the seat with her walking stick propped up alongside her.

We eventually got talking, when her breathing eased.

As you do.

We shared the view that it would have been easier if her particular dentist in the group practice occupied one of the surgeries downstairs but, no, this was where he resided.

“Are you local?” I asked, still reflecting on how tough it was for her to get up the stairs.

“Not far, a 10 minute walk” she said.

Then she told me about her son and his wife who had been trying to move house closer to where she lived from their current location over 15 miles away from her.

She gave me a detailed pen picture on how fussy her son was in his house selection and how difficult it was for him to find exactly what he wanted.

I found out about how different sellers had modified their houses but certainly not to his liking.

Then she stopped talking and rummaged in her handbag.

“Oh dear I’ve forgotten my purse with my bank card in it!”

One of the receptionists, who was passing by, said she could bring it in later after her treatment or just phone in with the card details.

“I can’t phone in” she said.

I suggested it would save her the 20 minute walk to home and back to the surgery.

“No, I’ll walk home, get my bank card and come back”

“The phone call would be easier” I offered.

“No, I don’t do long numbers”

I could relate to that.

Long streams of digits to read out, whilst clutching the phone for dear life and hoping you don’t have to repeat them back.

And hoping the receptionist doesn’t repeat out loud your 3 digit security code on the reverse of your card to a room full of patients sitting quietly, in fear, in the dental surgery.

I can relate to her preferred walk option …

life is difficult enough.

Bless her … I really hope she sorted it all out.