28 January 2010

Praise. It gets me every time.

The assistant had her hand in my mouth to repair my bottom retainer. She wasn't gentle about it. In fact, she seemed bugged that she had to fix my retainer. I felt like a naughty kid that broke their retainer chewing the always-illegal sticky food. And I'll have you know that that is NOT what happened. It just broke. Really. It broke on its own. But as she angrily fumbled in my mouth, it seems I forgot that the retainer just broke all by itself. I felt guilty that she had to fix my retainer. My tears were toeing the cliff.

As the assistant finished, the orthodontist stopped by my chair to officially certify that my retainer still fits; it's been six years since I got my braces off. The assistant stepped back from the chair to let the doctor through to evaluate my mouth. The officialness of the orthodontist doctor man gets me every time. It's his authority. The same thing happens with the dentist. And policemen. In their presence I feel the need to sit still and do as I'm told. And I always do.

As soon as the doctor came to the chair, I stammered, "Doctor, I wear my retainer every night. It should still fit." I nervously waited for his response. He lightly tapped under my chin and I opened my mouth. He studied my bite.

"Whatever you're doing, it's working. Your teeth look good." That's all he said and he walked away.

That's all I needed. No more verge of tears. I walked out with my head held high and my shoulders back. Whatever I'm doing is working. I wear my retainer like I'm supposed to. I'm a good girl. And my teeth look good.

1 comment:

Rebecca the Splendid said...

they always tell me i have excellent home-care habits. in other words, i am good at brushing my teeth. i love that moment.