Kimra Traynor Herb

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Kimra Traynor Herb
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A Poster Kid for Dental Hygiene

I have not had a "good" dental check up since...... roughly 1986. That was the year I got pregnant with my first son. Prior to that, my teeth were stellar, baby, mostly cavity free and without any problems. Then, I am not sure what happened, but I went oh, about 6 years without stepping foot (or tooth or gum) into a dentist chair, and all hell broke out in my mouth. That first trip back in 1992 they practically had to get a jackhammer in my mouth to remove all the built up plaque. It wasn't pretty, I tell ya, I was a poster waiting to scare kiddies into good dental hygiene. "Ummmmm, yeah." The dentist said, peering into the cesspool that was my mouth, "We're going to need some X-rays here to see what is going on. You are not pregnant, are you?"
What could I do? I lied of course. "Wellllllllll........ I drawled, reflectively, "I COULD be. You never know- I am pretty fertile, and there is a chance......." I let the word fade off ominously, as if to say, "and if you want to mutate my unborn child with X-rays then YOU can deal with that guilt."
They didn't take X-rays that day. However, I wasn't totally off the hook because they told me to come back AS SOON as I knew for sure that I wasn't pregnant, because surely in a mouth as neglected as mine, there were bound to be BIG TROUBLES.
Big troubles sounded expensive to me, and hey, my teeth didn't hurt (much), so I was able to eek another year out without a visit to the dentist. Now, in my defense, I didn't spend all those seven years (the original six and then the additional one) just dodging dental chairs. I mean, COME ON, I was a grown woman, and complex money issues and fear of novacaine aside, I frankly so overwhelmed with the endless pediatrician visits for my two young sons, as well as trips to the pediatric dentist for them, that there simple was NO TIME to get my own butt back in the dentist chair. And besides, the REALLY big question that always set my heart to racing was: "Who would watch my boys while I went to the dentist?"
The natural answer would be my hubby, but in those early days of parenthood he didn't have much free time either. So I just kind of let my teeth rot out in my head until one day I could wait no longer. I think that was probably crown #1. Crown #1 was really quite an eye-opener (and wallet opener as well) because the dentist told me that had I been doing the routine trips every six months, this crown could have been avoided.
You know what I learned? That is just dental talk to get you to spend more buckage. Because since that time I have been every six months, like clockwork, and I have yet to have an "all clear" checkup. Crowns #2, #3, #4 were equally hard to bear, especially because I thought after crown #1 I was going to be home free because I was never, no, never going to neglect my teeth again. God as my witness. But now I have come to the sad realization that NO MATTER WHAT I DO, I WILL NEVER, EVER have a good check up again. Six months ago I went to the dentist fairly optimistic. I had had no pain, and thought I was doing everything right. Boy, was I ever mistaken: I had something like six subsequent dental visits to right all the wrong in my mouth. So I turned over a new leaf. As my new year's resolution, I vowed that I would FLOSS those teeth of mine EVERY SINGLE DAY and turn the situation around. No cheatin, honest Injun, floss-o-ramas every single day. And I did! I think I flossed every day, save my fortieth birthday when I had way too many margaritas to make that TINY string fit between each and every tooth. So last week when I sidled up into the dentist's chair, I'll admit it, I was a touch smug. "You won't find anything wrong in there!" I bellowed, all proud of myself: "I've been a'flossin'!"

"It looks pretty good." My dentist agreed. "I just see TWO tiny cavities in there that we need to get fixed up and you'll be as good as new."
I think she saw the look of shock registering on my face, because she hastened to add, "That's a lot better than last time."
"But I flossed." I squeaked, dumbstruck. "Not only did I floss, but I brushed, like 4 times a day; after every meal and snack."
"They are just tiny cavities." She comforted.
"TINY CAVITIES!" I screamed. "HOW DID THEY GET IN THERE?!"
She didn't know what to say. I think she had never seen a grown woman so upset in the dentist chair. How to explain to a woman who looked into mouths all day that I had given it MY ALL- I had done EVERYTHING RIGHT, and yet, here it was, going all wrong once again? I made my return appointment with the pall of a woman who had just received a death sentence, and wondered aloud if it weren't time we just chucked the whole deal and pulled those suckers out and got me a nice pair of false teeth.
"What are you talking about?!" My dentist was appalled.
"False teeth. You know, some nice porcelain numbers." I informed. "THEN I could NEVER, EVER have another bad check up."
She raised her hand to protest, probably to clue me in on the hazards of gum rot or some such other devious dental nightmare.

"Don't tell me; don't tell me." I said to her, wondering inside my head how much worse off I'd be if I just forgot about it and went another six years without ever stepping foot inside of a dentist's office.