The Man in The White Coat

We were living in Puerto Rico when, a couple of weeks before my tenth birthday, my brother Forrest came along as I was bent over, butt in the air, scrubbing out the tub while still naked from my bath. What four-year old can resist an invitation like that? One mischievous kick, and I had a chipped incisor. Which led to dental x-rays, which led to the discovery that although that was my only permanent left central incisor, I had three sets of lateral incisors and canines on that side. So, one sunny day my dad dropped me off at the dentist to have two extra teeth cut out of my gums and one pulled while he went on to work. When he came back he said he could hear me screaming two blocks away. It turns out novocaine intensifies the pain for me and the dentist didn't believe that it still hurt (who believed little girls in 1952?) until I tore the shirt off his back and scratched him until he bled. His solution had been to tie me in the chair and remove the teeth. Can you wonder that I became afraid of dental needles? And, oh yes. We later discovered that he had removed an extra tooth and so the simple cap became a bridge.

Fast forward to 1975. I had just moved from Fairbanks, Alaska to Stockton, California. Bridges in those days lasted about ten years and my most recent one needed to be replaced. I explained to my mother's dentist that I was deathly afraid of needles and that since all of the teeth involved in the bridge were already root canalled (no nerves left, therefore no pain possible) I would do without a shot. He agreed. And then the sumbitch came up with his hand behind his back and got me in the roof of the mouth. Bad plan. I projectile vomited and became so hysterical that he had to call my mother 45 minutes later to come and get me because it was obvious I wasn't going to be driving that day.

The next week I went back to have the work done. The nurse tried to direct me to the chair and I refused. The dentist came in and said he understood I wouldn't get in the chair until we had talked.

"You," I said, "may be the man in the white coat, but I am the woman with the green dollar bills. And unless you promise that you will never come near me with a needle again, I'm going to take them to some other dentist."

"Lady," he answered, "I wouldn't give you a shot to save my first born son."

Somewhere between ten and 33 I had figured it out: when I hire someone to help me, their status doesn't matter, they are still the hired help. I still remember those two dentists, and if they are alive, I promise they remember me.