Part of moving is, of course, finding new health care professionals. Our new dentist’s office is quite a change from the one we had in Michigan. These folks seem more technologically up-to-date—they have a fancy image-taking machine that swoops around one’s head like something from a sci-fi movie, and they text me reminders of my appointments, to name two things—and also more interested in doing work on my teeth. The old place wouldn’t even schedule cleanings six months out, leaving me to remember when I was due; the new one had us scheduled for the next cleaning before we left the office from the first one, and they also suggested some things both Mr. Karen and I might want to have done in addition to the typical cleaning. Sure, that makes more money for them, most of it coming from our insurance, but I also feel like they ‘re getting me caught up from years of the other dentist doing not very much for me. Thus, I’ve been in their office every week for the last three, and have two more appointments to finish up the treatment plan. Last week, for a deep cleaning, I got half my lower face numbed, which rendered me unable to purse my lips or whistle for a few hours—and which I felt compelled to document; see below.
I’ll be glad when I’m done spending so much time in the dental chair, but am also glad to feel I’m finally taking really good care of my teeth.
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