I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

My Gag Reflex

I have been undergoing some treatments at my dentist’s office, treatments that have to do with dental problems that tend to come as we grow older. I am 70, so I assume I qualify to have these problems.

One of the treatments my dentist recommended involved a dental lab fabricating a partial plate to fill in the gaps age has created in my mouth. This sounds reasonable. Leave the teeth that are still in reasonably good shape and replace the bad ones with a plastic plate that has phony teeth at selected spaces. Just slide it in and, there you go, a million dollar smile is yours once again.

In order to create this plate, the lab needs to have a fairly accurate mold of the mouth of the person who is to benefit from this process. That mold is obtained, in this day of computer technology that can map the earth and show intricate detail on Google, in a rather old-fashioned way. A plastic tray filled with goop is put into the patient’s mouth and left there for two or three long, agonizing minutes while the goop hardens. The tray and the hardened goop is then removed and the resulting mold is used by the lab to make the plate.

I had already had this impression business done twice, and I didn’t like it either time. You see, I have a rather active gag reflex. Now, I don’t know exactly how this reflex can tell the difference between, say, a nice juicy steak and a plastic tray of goop, but it can. I have never, to my recollection, gagged on steak. But it was all I could do to keep from gagging on goop.

"Breath through your nose," I was told by dentist and his assistant. "Pant like a dog." "Hold your mouth open as wide as you can." Even as I write this several hours later, I can still feel that cold, mucky goop pressing against my gag reflex.

Anyway, a plate was created from the second impression that was made of my mouth earlier in the week. "Slide that in," the dentist told me. But it didn’t slide in. It didn’t fit. "Let me make a few adjustments," he said. But after several adjustments, the thing still would not go into its proper place.

"We’ll have to make another impression," he said. "Another impression?" I said. "You know those make me gag."

He then explained that the lab has to destroy the mold when they make the plate, so in order for the lab to make a better fitting plate, they would need a new mold. It was gag time again.

His assistant made another impression, and I managed to keep gagging to an unpleasant but safe minimum. But the impression the assistant made was missing an important part. "We’ll have to make another impression," he said. More gagging. More fast breathing, More wide open mouth trying to keep my insides from coming out. "I’ll make this one," the doctor said to his assistant. "Watch how I do it."

The assistant was no impressed with the doctor’s work. This impression failed as well. "Third time’s a charm," he said as he loaded the plastic tray with goop for a third try. "Do you know what they make this stuff out of?" he asked. "No, I don’t," I said. "Seaweed," he said. I could feel the gag response getting ready.

The third impression also was not up to snuff. I was beginning to think snuff might be an improvement over the seaweed goop, but I don’t really know that since I have never used snuff and at the age of 70 I am not likely to give up goop for snuff. On second thought, maybe I should!

"Let’s use a different material this time," he said. "I don’t know what this stuff tastes like," he said. "Maybe it tastes like chicken," I said.

In went the fourth tray of goop. It did not taste like chicken. Or seaweed. It certainly did not taste like steak. My gag reflex knew. This was goop, and I had all I could do to keep the reflex from spilling goop and a lot of other nasty stuff all over the good doctor. "You will notice I am standing behind the patient," he said to his assistant. Good choice, doc!

 He removed the impression and studied it closely. "Well, Tom, you make a good impression," he laughed as he proudly held up the hardened goop that now carried an accurate, I hope, impression of the old mouth seven decades of life have produced in me. I will know in a day or so if this impression results in a viable partial plate, one that fits and that my gag reflex can recognize as OK even though it does not resemble steak in any manner whatsoever. Or seaweed, either, for that matter.

Later, as I examined the bill the dentist gave me, I started to gag once again.