AT THE DENTIST

Dear Harry,

I had an appointment with the dentist yesterday. Dr. Joe reminded me that I've been visiting his office since 1995; so, more than 25 years. A good thing. It was he who first put the fear of G*d in me about my teeth. I'd lose them all, he told me, if I didn't start to floss.

Well-meaning dental hygienists had told me this before. When I first brought my teeth to an American dentist he was horrified.  English dentistry has a bad reputation over here, especially for those of us who were born in the first half of the 20th century. I hope things have improved since then, but I know that you had lost every one of your teeth by the time you were my age. The ones you had were kept in a jar on the bathroom shelf. They needed to be taken out every night and put back in the morning. Peggy's were not much better. 

I remember it was torture going to the dentist as a child. Flora and I were terrified. For simple fillings, as I remember it, they didn't even use novocaine in those days. That was reserved for major jobs, extractions, and so on. Even the smallest filling was an agonizing encounter with the dreaded drill. The sound alone was enough to induce excruciating pain... and that was before the drill hit the nerve.

Did you ever hear of flossing, Harry? I doubt it. It was unheard of in our day--at least by the time I left England for good around 1960--and I was not about to start such a heathen practice just because I'd arrived in America. That lasted until I started out with Dr. Joe, an unsparing and determined task-master of Asian descent, who told me I'd lose all my teeth in a matter of years if I failed to change my ways. 

I have flossed ever since. Every evening. Well, except when I forget. Which is not very often these days. My report yesterday was excellent. My bottom teeth were in good shape, my top teeth "immaculate." They'll serve me well, says Dr. Joe, "for another 25 years."

Which is fine by me. I'll be 110 years old.

Your son in good dental health, Peter