Zatera Ul

I had an unhappy time at the dentist yesterday. Not from throwing up–that happened before I left home. I got to the appointment ten minutes early, and the hygienist didn’t start on me until just about the time that I should have been getting out of there. Longer than I wanted to sit around with morning sickness and jeans that are getting too tight. At least they had magazines, and I practically had the waiting room to myself. The dentist office still was using my old address, despite the fact that I’ve been in there twice since we moved. The hygienist didn’t hear me when I answered “How are you today?” with “Pregnant” and scolded me a little for refusing the X-ray (I think she was wrong on the date of my last X-ray anyway). She didn’t have a new medical form handy, so she had me fill out the old one again, over my old answers. Then she started scraping away at my tartar, and it became quite clear that this woman just did not have the manual dexterity required for dentistry. In a nutshell (thought, not said): “The tartar is on my teeth, so why do you keep tearing into my gums?!” She did a mediocre cleaning job, and then called the dentist over and told him that I didn’t floss, when I had told her that I do, most days.

This place needs better attention to detail and chairside manner. I usually make my next 6-month appointment when I’m there, but not this time. It falls too close to the due date, anyway.

When I was in Michigan, my dentist office kept sticking me with their least popular hygienist. I hated her, because she was hard on my gums and would skip all over my teeth asystematically, but at least she did a thorough cleaning job. It was a joyous day when I found out that she had left the practice. So I consider that my time in Bad Hygienist Purgatory has already been fulfilled.