The Dentist

At the dentist's

Last Monday I felt pain in the lower-left part of my mouth. Like the times before when some part of me has hurt, I ignored it for a couple of days.

By Wednesday, however, the pain was such that I couldn't chew anything on the left side of my mouth. Touching my left lower cheek brought excruciating pain.

Unlike many people in this world, I do not hate going to the dentists. Of course I don't treasure the experience, but I don't find excuses not to go.

So when I felt this pain, and it didn't get any better, I saw my local dentist.

Since most Japanese people don't get out of work until around 8pm, and most doctor's offices close at around 5pm, the waiting room was empty when I walked in at 3pm.

The receptionist took one look at me and seemed to hold her breath while keeping her eyes steady on me as I took my shoes off at the door and slipped into the slippers every doctor's office in Japan forces its patients to wear for reasons beyond my comprehension.

I've started to enjoy waiting out the agony doctor's office receptionists experience when they see me walk in through the door. Every single time I get the stare of, "Oh dear God I last took English in high school and I don't remember anything except 'hello.' What do I do? Does she speak Japanese? She doesn't look like she speaks a word of Japanese. What do I do?"

I like waiting until the last minute to speak to them, because they always drive me crazy after they find out I can speak Japanese.

This receptionist at the dentist's office was pretty loud and straightforward about her relief that I could, in fact, speak enough Japanese to communicate with her.

"I saw you come in through the door and I panicked," she said. "I'm so glad you can speak Japanese. I'm so shocked you can speak Japanese!"

Japan is not a place for any non-Japanese-looking person hoping to blend in with the background. When all I wanted to do was sit down in the waiting room and nurse my aching mouth, I stood there answering the receptionist's questions about my Japanese ability while the nurses flooded in behind the receptionist to take a look at the foreigner.

Finally I got to sit down and battle the form, naturally written all in Japanese. It's one thing to feel like you've got a good handle on written Japanese; it's quite another to fill out a doctor's form.

While I tackled the form, an old man shuffled through the main door. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him wordlessly move my shoes (still at the entrance to the place) so they were pointing toward the door, then he did the same for his own. He exchanged a few brief words with the receptionist and then sat down far away from me.

The receptionist clicked on the TV just in time for a 15 minute program dedicated to radio exercises for the elderly. I watched as they had three perpetually smiling women do basic stretches, one of them in a chair for, as the narrator said, "those of you who can't stand." On and on the stretching and lunges went while a middle-aged woman plugged away a chipper song on a nearby grand piano.

As the station slipped into the news, I handed in my form to the dentist's receptionist and waited. An elderly woman battled with the step up you have to take from the entrance of the place to the actual waiting area, and then she sat down in between the old man and me.

One of the nurses came out and looked at me.

"For how long can you afford to be here today?"

"Um...until four."

I had no idea why she wanted to know that.

"Ok, I'm sorry, but we'll have them go ahead of you and then have you come in."

No explanation of why, but I sat there struggling to comprehend the news while the old man and woman were looked at before me.

Finally it was my turn.

The dentist, an elderly man, took one look at a cap I have on a tooth in my lower left jaw and said, "We need an X-ray."

After the X-ray, I watched the nurse put the little photo of my teeth on a light board near the chair they had me at, and everything looked fine to me. Then the dentist looked at it.

He leaned forward toward the light board, making noises of shock and disapproval.

"Well, I can give you something for the pain," he said, "and I can shave down the capped tooth, but if the pain doesn't stop, I'll have to take out the _____________."

The joys of Japanese. Of course I don't understand the important part. I only knew he wasn't suggesting I have my tooth taken out. That was it.

So while my mind wildly tried to fill in the blank in the world's worst version of ad libs, the dentist went on to explain why whatever it was that needed to be taken out had to be taken out, but why he would only do it as a last resort.

He then went on to shave down my tooth, which was not a fun experience, and then I was free to go. If the pain didn't recede, then I would need to come back.

I slipped into my shoes, pointing toward the door, and promised I'd call if the pain was still there in a few days.