The Peter Pan Patient
Let’s get right to it: I am 30 years old and still go to a pediatric dentist. I have it on good authority that I am Dr. Charles Dixter’s (a.k.a. Chuck D) oldest patient by a good 10 years. Actually, there are a handful of older patients, but their reason for seeing Chuck is that their own kids have started to go as well – so they have convenient alibis, and it isn’t quite the same thing.
I know it’s a little odd. But aside from enduring the ridicule of my friends and family (even my mom jokes about it with her own dentist. Thanks, Mom.), why should it really bother me? The way I see it, there’s nothing better about going to a DFG (Dentist For Grown-ups).
Let’s review: Dr. Dixter’s office has mint AND bubble-gum flavoured fluoride, comic books in the waiting room, dental hygenists who are continually impressed that I’m out of school, living on my own, and holding down a job (what‘s 13 -year-old Zachary accomplished lately? Thought so.), and, best of all, when I strap into the chair and lie back, rather than stare at a depressingly barren ceiling, devoid of any visuals, Chuck D’s ceiling is plastered with photos of kittens and puppies being all cute and playful. That’s about as soothing an image as you can have while the good Doctor D works away on your choppers. I’m not even going to talk about the rad plastic ring I still get at the end of every appointment, because it’ll just sound like bragging.
On the other hand, I have never been to a DFG, so I can’t say with certainty that doing so would be, necessarily, a horrific experience. But I have seen the film Marathon Man. That’s the one where Dustin Hoffman’s character ends up being interrogated and tortured by a sadistic German Nazi dentist – not a pediatric dentist, but a dyed-in-the-wool DFG.
Now, I realize it’s potentially unfair to paint all DFG’s as sadistic Nazis, as I’m sure there are some good ones out there (dentists, not Nazis), but why take the risk? Why bother going out for vinegar-flavoured fluoride or whatever slop the DFG‘s are serving, when you’re already living it up and getting the bubblegum flavor at Chuck D‘s?
For what it’s worth, I did ask Dr. Dixter, at the conclusion of my last visit, if he found it odd or at all disconcerting that I was still his patient, after all these years. Chuck just smiled, passed me a plastic ring that featured a picture of a gopher (it read “I go-pher brushing!“), and assured me that I was still more than welcomed through his hallowed halls, so long as I, quote, “promised to keep up with the flossing.” I sure will, Chuck D, I sure will.
