A Sweet Tooth for Care

This might sound pathetic. One of the things I look forward to outside of work is going to the dentist. Not that I am a masochist; I hate pain, and I always ask for extra doses of anesthesia for the simplest filling. I am even very much bothered by just the drilling sounds during cleaning. Despite such discomfort, I find it deeply pleasurable to be physically cared for by another person in the dentist’s chair. Maybe I am lonely, and loneliness is scarier than pain.

I tried a very luxurious, out-of-network dental service last year, not entirely by choice, but because of a complicated situation with one of my teeth. While waiting for the treatment, the receptionist placed me in a massage chair in a private room, with large chunks of spiritual crystals and an X-ray scan of my teeth displayed on a big TV screen. She also put a pair of headphones over my head and played some kind of meditation program. As I waited, I was mindlessly switching between appreciating my bone structure and daydreaming.

The actual treatment was performed in a large dental chair overlooking a panoramic view of gorgeous Santa Monica. An assistant came and put two white patches on my stomach, “This is some frequency that will calm you down. Also, do you want a blanket?” I waited 45 minutes for the dentist. Normally, I would feel very anxious about my already-expired street parking. But the whole thing was so soothing that I fell asleep in the chair instead.

When the superstar dentist finally came, she gently held my chin and said, charmingly, “We will have some fun today.” The rather complicated treatment was almost painless and included a deep-cleaning technique that used sound vibrations I had never heard of. The dental bill cost me an entire paycheck, but it fixed whatever needed fixing, and I had a beyond-exceptional experience. Now I understood how some people flew from out-of-state, say, Michigan, to see that dentist in Los Angeles.

This fancy dental treatment is perhaps nothing surprising. As people say, money can almost buy everything. And, I am living in freaking Santa Monica, woo hoo, one of the wealthiest zip codes in the United States. (Not entirely proud of it, more dark sides of it later.) Beyond this luxurious treatment, I greatly appreciated many hygienists’ heartwarming work. I recall an amazing Asian male hygienist whom I had the privilege of being served by in Boston. What made the hygienist so unforgettable was not just that he meticulously wiped away all the everlasting tea stains on the back of my front tooth. He also said something to me I couldn’t help smiling at, even now, after two years, “Your mouth is so tiny.” I laughed out loud on the spot because everyone knows that I have a freaking big mouth! It was super cute that he lied to me, haha!

What actually triggered me to write this post was the South American lady hygienist I worked with today. After learning about my background, the lady said in a very soft voice, “You must be one of those people who know what you want since you were a baby girl.” “Thank you. That’s what my mum said!” Indeed, I’ve never actually let my mum down and always surprised (and overwhelmed) her with all the worldly achievements I’ve had. The lady asked me, “Do you talk to your mum daily?” I said no, just once a month. In fact, I call my mum only once every quarter. Not that I don’t love her; it is, you know, as the lady said, “Yea, it is two different worlds (Hong Kong and the United States).”