How to “insure” that your teeth are well-cared for

At my last visit, due to some confusion with our dental insurance, just as I was bibbed and “relaxed” in that scared-smile way in the chair, the receptionist urgently came in to inform me with the news that I didn’t have insurance coverage. Was I sure I wanted/needed the cleaning? Never before has it been so apparent to me that our care was optional, according to whether we had insurance for our care.

We did and do indeed have dental insurance, and I’m glad for it. Everything is cleared up now after only twelve or thirteen phone calls - sort of. I had to pay for the appointment up front, and after a mere two months, am still waiting to be reimbursed. Maybe I should make another phone call?

I often wonder what I might have accomplished in life if I didn’t have to always chase companies on the phone – waiting in the endless automated phone loops, waiting to catch a kinsman overseas who has been trained to put on an American accent, and who has been given an Anglicized pseudonym so you might actually believe that you are speaking to “Harry in Wichita” and not suspect that you are talking to Harrish in New Delhi. Perhaps I would have more time available, and would floss my teeth more.

At some point, you should just surrender and realize that you aren't going to beat the odds. Why is it that the beasts of the fields and the birds of the air don't even brush their teeth, but they don’t need to visit the dentist? Is it because they have generally healthier diets that lack refined sugar? How do they manage? Or do they just have horrible dental problems that they suffer in the wild, just because they don’t have dental insurance?

At an even earlier dental appointment, I once had declined the x-ray. The question was phrased in some way that asked me to confirm that I was not pregnant. I didn’t think I was pregnant. I didn’t think I should be, but since I couldn’t confidently rule it out, I simply declined the x-ray, and reclined in the chair. Shortly thereafter, I received lots of attention from numerous hygienists.

“Oh, congratulations…” each one said timidly as she poked her head in while I waited. They couldn't be congratulating me on my teeth; that much I knew. On the first remarks, I gave them a questioning look. “Oh...you refuse x-ray,” they said knowingly, wink, wink. So much for all those privacy forms you fill out.

I had to convince them that I was pretty sure there was no need for congratulations. Then, they looked at my teeth. That confirmed it.

Why do they really wear those face shields? Is it to guard themselves from your back-spray, or is it so you can't inspect the quality of their teeth while they are fiddling with yours? Why do the hygienists insist on ask complicated questions as you sit mouth agape, hoping not to drool on your bib dangling from alligator clips? They should be trained to deliver a soliloquy instead. The questions are never the yes/no type, either. “It's, ‘Where are you from?’ ” Even with my mouth free, that question for immigrant-types can require a mouth-full.

If my gums bleed in various areas, they definitely start asking how often I've been flossing. Why don't they just ask “if” I've been flossing? Rather than asking your cosmetic opinions of your teeth, they should force you to divulge your dental history, excluding the week before you're scheduled to be there. That's the one week where everyone is a good and frenzied dental patient. Like a non-custodial parent, we are desperate to squeeze in all the love and attention we can get into a weekend or a holiday.

This is bad, but I'm always tempted to lie about the flossing. Not that it would fool anyone, but there is that streak of sarcasm that I usually reserve for my kids or this column that threatens to well up. “No, I floss all the time,” I want to say. “My gums are bleeding because they are shy and a little sensitive – especially in the presence of strangers with face shields.” I don’t want to tell her, as her face looms directly over mine, that I was so lazy last night that I slept in my contact lenses.

“You need to floss more...” the hygienist chides over and over. Okay. I get that. I'm getting that now, and I will be terrified enough to do so religiously for the next week.

Do I sound like this when I am nagging my kids? I leave the office, and people are left wondering whether I am expecting Baby #7. (I’m not.) I am wondering whether I can start flossing fanatically and stop nagging the kids. I’ll work on both…right after I call the insurance company. Again.