I am spending the morning desperately seeking a new
dentist.
I have been thinking about this in the back of my mind
because my dentist hasn’t been able to keep an associate for over a year, and
even his staff, both his long-time hygienist and loyal receptionist, jumped
ship in the last year or two.
My youngest has needed a tooth filled since January. The dentist wanted him to use some RX
mouthwash and come back in February, which was impossible because of his
college schedule and his team practice and game schedule. I insisted that the dentist fill the tooth
right then and there, but the dentist was just as insistent that we wait.
Back my son came in early July to have the exam, the
cleaning, the x-rays, and the newly scheduled appointment to have that same
tooth filled. The day before the
appointment for the filling, the office mysteriously closed and cancelled all
upcoming appointments. The first word
was that the dentist had landed in the hospital. That was also the last word.
My cleaning appointment came and went, with no response
from the office at all. This same
routine, the message on the answering machine claiming the office was
temporarily closed, played continuously and monotonously for over a month.
My son is now two weeks away from returning to college,
and there’s no way that tooth is going for another few months. I am also quite tired of the
unprofessionalism at the dentist’s office.
I can’t get a call back, I can’t get any explanation, and I can’t get
our records.
I decide to call the insurance company who sends me on an
Internet scavenger hunt. Eventually, I
call a new office because it is close to my house and because they have three
dentists. Three! So if one goes MIA, there will be at least
one more to pick up the slack.
I ask the receptionist if they are accepting new
patients. Thankfully, the answer is
yes. Then, I tell her my sad saga. Can they, is there any way, might they
please, would they be so kind as to … maybe … um … fit my son in for a dental
exam and a filling … in … the … next … two … weeks?
I’m going to be honest – It has been a long time since I
felt like this big of an asshole.
The receptionist is so kind and so patient and, mostly,
she is incredibly sympathetic. She talks
to the doctor, explains our dilemma, then calls back and says, “Bring your son
in Monday at 11:30. We’re happy to see
him.”
With no records?
With no idea what tooth is at issue?
Even though my insurance won’t pay for the exam and I will have to? You’d do that? For us?
Wow.
I don’t think I’ve been so excited about the dentist ever
before in my lifetime. I am the girl who
as a toddler knocked out my front teeth in a legendary ballet-vs.-coffee-table
accident. At an early age, I bit the
dentist’s thumb with such force and persistence that I wouldn’t let go until
the hygienist got my mother to come into the exam room. I am the one who as a teenager got
over-gassed with nitrous-oxide during a procedure, passed out, and woke up
gasping for breath because the gas was flowing at too high a rate and nobody
noticed. Posts fall out, wisdom teeth
need to be cut from the bones of my jaw because they grow sideways, and old
fillings have gone bad. I’ve had some
minor jaw surgeries and some extensive ones where teeth and roots are
concerned. I need a dentist whose only
response to tooth repair is NOT the word “implant” and I need the records to
back up my valiant battle to keep my own teeth.
Yet here is my happy face, smiling because I get to tell
this tale, too, and show off my frighteningly crazy jaw bone to another
unsuspecting group of dental professionals.
Plus, my son’s tooth will, with any luck at all, be filled before he
returns to school in two weeks.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
I’m not sure what happened to my other dentist. His Facebook page keeps posting daily dental
messages and his website is still up, though neither has received a single hit
except for mine.
I checked the obits, and he’s not dead yet.
I guess I’ll write a formal letter and have my son write
a formal letter requesting that our records go to the new place. It can be added to the growing pile of mail
that is probably filling up the dental office floor just inside their door with
the mail slot.
Oh well. I guess
all that’s left is for me to wave the old guy goodbye, smile broadly, and
calmly instruct him to “Bite (wing) me.”
