The Price of Stupidity

Growing up, I used to pride myself on my overall good health. Let a few sniffles keep me down? Hell no, I'm going to school! Throw up? I don't know of such things. Cavities? Not in this pristine mouth! But as soon as I got to college, I became a shell of my formerly hearty self, suddenly inflicted with eye ulcers, high blood pressure. I even wound up in the ER after too many Jello shots (and head-hitting-the-pavement kind of falls) left me with a freakish echoing sound in my head. Okay, so that last one, my fault. 

Whereas once I used to skip into the doctor's office and bravely bare my forearm to the needle-wielding nurse, now, I was terrified by the antiseptic white office. Was this the trip where he'd tell me I was dying? I'm sorry to tell you this, but that cystic zit is actually a deadly, flesh-eating fungus. Call your parents, you have 48 hours to say goodbye. Obviously, nothing serious has befallen me yet (knock on wood, please), which is comforting, sure, but hasn't made me any less fearful of tests and scopes and EKG's. Truth: if not for the fact that I need prescriptions filled, I'd probably drop into the doctor's office once every two years, if that. 

So, I was coming up on a much-needed dentist visit, and while I wasn't afraid of oral cancer  (although had I known they'd be checking for oral cancer, you can be damn sure I'd have been fretting over it), I was afraid that I might need root canal or gum surgery or ten of my teeth replaced. No, not because I had any tooth pain or problems, just cause, you know...

But I was feeling a little confident about this visit. I'd been using a Sonicare toothbrush for a couple of years now, occasionally flossed, and had been rinsing with Listerine religiously...for the last three days. Plus, I'd just been to the dentist a year ago (give or take six months). So you can imagine my surprise when the hygienist told me that I had four cavities. Uh, what?

In fairness, a couple weren't really my fault (no, really, even the doctor said), but I had a few fairly big cavities on the chewing surface of my teeth, in those grooves where all the food goes. So the hygienist, maybe after having seen this before, asks, "Do you brush the part of your teeth that you chew with?" Hahaha, oh please, lady, of course, duh! That's actually what I wanted to say, and my brain did kind of have the duh thing running through it. 

  But the reality was, since I'd been using the Sonicare, no! When I first bought the damn thing and was reading the directions, it talked about holding the brush at a 45 degree angle from your gums, gently moving from one tooth to the next, with no mention of the chewing surface. There wasn't even time in the 30 seconds allotted to every quadrant. 

At the time, I'm fairly sure that I expressed my concern to my  husband, who I think may have responded with, "Oh no, the vibrations knock all the food loose." This, of course, might mean that my husband, despite his freakishly healthy teeth, might actually be using his wrong too. (Note to self: watch him next time he brushes.) But, no matter. It's my teeth that have the cavities, it's me who had to face the hygienist and then the dentist, about why I'd choose to ignore the most essential brush-spot in this mouth of mine. It's like Brushing 101. It's like cleaning the toilet seat, but leaving crap in the bowl!

Feeling that the dentist would look upon me more favorably if I was an idiot, rather than a delinquent brusher, I explained my mistake to him, and told him that I'd misunderstood the instructions when I first started using it, and no one had ever told me otherwise. His response, "Did you only read the first page?" 

So, with four cavities and hundreds of dollars worth of dental work in front of me, I wanted to get to the root (haha, love me) of what went wrong. Even my mom, the bearer of my Sonicare gift two years ago, said, "Four cavities? But you've been so good." Again, is it better to admit to my stupidity, or admit that I have a cesspool of bacteria inside my mouth? I went with telling her that I've been "using the Sonicare wrong," and left the other details out.

Back at my computer, I decided to look up those ill-fated directions on this supposedly mouth-saving product of mine. Lo and behold, I'm not totally stupid. After explaining where to place the brush and how to use it, it's only on step #5, after all is said and done, that they suggest maybe brushing at the chewing surfaces, like an added bonus, if you have time. So I'm not totally, entirely stupid... I just maybe follow direction a little too well.