About two months ago I went to the dentist for what I hoped would be a cleaning, but suspected would end up an appointment to come back for gum work. Unfortunately it was the later.
The dentist took a few x-rays, poked around my mouth for two minutes and announced he would need to get insurance approval to do some deep cleaning on my gums and repair some bondings. Pregnancy, he said, did a number on my gums and I really need to get them in shape before things get out of hand (confession: this is only my second postpartum dental appointment).
He sent me out with a prescription for some god-awful mouthwash and the promise to call me after the approval came in. FIVE WEEKS LATER I finally got a call. By this point I was starting to think he was scamming me.
“I bet he charged the insurance for that ‘consultation’ and then took his sweet time getting back with me,'” I said to the Professor. “He just wrote the prescription for this nasty mouthwash to make it FEEL like we did something during the first appointment. I am not going to use it. He will never know.”
I put the gross mouth wash under the sink and went about my life.
The morning of my appointment rolled around and I prepared by showering, doing my hair (because you know, you totally should spend time fluffing your hair just to go lay on it for an hour and squish it all down), brushing AND flossing.
“I’ll show him,” I thought. “I bet this one-time flossing will be enough to mitigate all the gum problems from my now distant pregnancy!”
When I got to the dentist he was super apologetic about the long wait on approvals. He explained that Cig.na Dental is notoriously slow at approvals and that his other patients often called and pestered every few days to check on them. He appreciated my patience. Oops.
Then he settled in with his tray of
torture devices and started to work on my lower teeth. The suction sucked, the spray sprayed, the evil scrappy device scraped. And scraped. And scraped. And scraped. After a few minutes he set down the scrapper and asked,” Did you use your mouth wash?”
I stared at him, open-mouthed (because it was full of pain and embarrassment) and stammered, “Um, no…. Well, I mean, I used it for about a day. It tastes really horrible.”
“I thought so. You really need to use it. There is a reason I prescribed it. We are going to have to rebook this appointment so you use the mouthwash for a week beforehand.”
I was scolded by my dentist.
At the ripe-old age of 34.
And sent home to basically think about my actions.
So let this be warning to all you formerly prego ladies who might also have long-term gum complications. That nasty mouthwash? It actually does something. And the dentist will know if you don’t use it!