A trip to the dentist, or two
It’s
inevitable, with no fluoride in the water or toothpaste, and delicious sugary
food galore, if you are staying in Japan for longer than a year you
will need to visit a dentist at some point. Unless you are opting for the
denture look, which I certainly wouldn’t hold against you.
As
someone who does not have a phobia of dentists (aside from the fear of an empty
wallet), I was still a little nervous about this experience. I didn’t know any
common dentist terminology, and felt rather blinded by ignorance in general. Luckily,
I didn’t read the numerous articles online about Japanese dentists, because
they are 99% horror stories and 1% helpful. I just went with a recommendation,
and a friend in tow.
This
is my story.
It
begins the same as any dentist tale, with the awkward wiggle that is essential
in a reclining chair. I wonder if I should warn them of the possibility of me
fainting. I had kicked the habit before I left Australia, handling blood
related situations with the grace of any other, that is until our annual work
medical examination in Japan. In my defense, the examination was conducted in an
assembly line, and there were three other people sitting next to me having
blood taken at the same time. Four people, four arms, four needles and four vials
of blood, it’s just too much.
What
is the word for faint in Japanese anyway? Oh well, I guess I will just close my eyes if
they try to show me something gory, and think about calm blue oceans. Calm blue
oceans. A towel is placed over my eyes, which helps the illusion immensely.
This is much preferred to the super trendy sunglasses, as it blocks not only
the light but also any flying debris. Breathe in, breathe out, and repeat.
My
dental assistant is very quiet. She doesn’t say a word. I can hear the dental
assistant next door prattling away to my friend. I wonder if he is having
better luck understanding her than I am. The design of the practice is similar in
my mind to a bus depot. There is a row of ‘parking spaces’ on a slight angle, separated
by thin walls. The entrance way to each can be blocked by a pull down screen,
the back is completely open to allow the dentist to move from ‘lot’ to ‘lot’,
which is why I can hear quite clearly.
Most
dental surgeries in Japan
are privately owned by a dentist. They may have a staff of a few dental
assistants, however this is minimal. The dentist will generally supervise
multiple patients at a time, moving from one to another, as the assistants stay
put and do the majority of the work. Hence the bus shelter feel.
The
dental assistant starts the clean with a familiar tingling feeling, numbing
cream. This is not standard procedure for a clean in Australia, where our
national motto is ‘suck it up, cause nobody likes a crybaby’. Actually, I think
it’s a nice touch. It’s not so numb that you’re drooling everywhere, but you don’t
feel any pain. Perhaps if patient comfort was more of a focus in other
countries, dentists wouldn’t have such a bad image.
The
assistant is replaced by the dentist who walks in from the back. He inspects my
teeth, giving the assistant instructions on how to proceed with the clean. He
addresses me, and asks for a second time if I can speak Japanese. I say that I
can a little, which is my standard response. He talks extremely slowly, but
there is no point if I don’t know the word. He finally accepts this truth and goes
out the back to research a key word. He comes back with ‘calculus’. I deduct
that he means I have a calcium build up on my teeth. He asks me if I know how
to use a toothbrush properly. I don’t answer. It’s not really a question
anyway. It’s the start of a tutorial on correct toothbrush technique, in Japanese.
The
dental assistant is then left to complete her tasks, which interestingly
enough, only includes the bottom half of my mouth. The second half I am
informed must be completed at a second appointment. Certainly not a necessary split,
however this again is common practice in Japan. A clean will be spread over two
appointments. More complicated work may take three or four visits. I’m not
complaining, in fact, if the experience had been more painful this might have
been a nice touch. The 99% horror story version of this account would tell you
that the 'split appointment practice' is a money making scheme. However, since
my combined bill for the two appointments was a total of $44, I don’t really care
what the reason is. The only thing I want to know is when can I make my next
appointment?
Three
days later I have the top half cleaned. One year from now I will receive a note
in my letter box reminding me to make an appointment. Life is good for dentists
and patients alike.
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