Man's Sense of (Im)Mortality
I made an appointment with a dentist yesterday.
This is much more interesting than it sounds. It is the culmination of a long period of evasion and denial. The last time I went to a dentist was in Montana before I moved, when I had my wisdom teeth pulled.
It isn't as though I haven't had dental insurance. My job provides good benefits. For some reason, I've never actually called a dentist to ask to be taken on as a patient. Of course, I never did with a doctor either; when I recently switched insurance coverage options to Kaiser, they went ahead and assigned me a general physician when I dilly-dallied on selecting one myself. I thought was very helpful of them.
So far I've taken advantage of vision benefits to get a new pair of glasses. For some reason, I had no hesitation in doing that.
There is the theory that men in particular avoid going to the doctor because we think we are immortal. I think that is not quite true. I think we avoid going to doctors and dentists because we are all too aware of our own mortality and don't want to find out what is wrong with us, even when we know we have cavities, high blood pressure, or whatever other nagging health concerns lurk in the back of our minds.
Think about it: dentists always nag you about flossing more. That's not exactly a message that stimulates the ego. It's much more fun to pretend nothing's wrong and eat another doughnut dipped in beer.
But there comes a time when you realize you have to figure out how to make your own dental appointments: you're 30 years of age, for god's sake, and your teeth aren't going to miraculously maintain themselves. You're not a superhero, after all. Plus, even superheroes need dental care--although if Superman wore braces, and the rubber bands snapped, that would be the most dangerous bit of orthodontia ever, because a rubber band traveling faster than a speeding bullet would be bound to cause some collateral damage.
Sometimes, you must stop evading the facts and do what needs to be done if you want to accept that you are 30 and technically an adult. Yes, I know: the tooth can hurt.
Yes, I went there.
This is much more interesting than it sounds. It is the culmination of a long period of evasion and denial. The last time I went to a dentist was in Montana before I moved, when I had my wisdom teeth pulled.
It isn't as though I haven't had dental insurance. My job provides good benefits. For some reason, I've never actually called a dentist to ask to be taken on as a patient. Of course, I never did with a doctor either; when I recently switched insurance coverage options to Kaiser, they went ahead and assigned me a general physician when I dilly-dallied on selecting one myself. I thought was very helpful of them.
So far I've taken advantage of vision benefits to get a new pair of glasses. For some reason, I had no hesitation in doing that.
There is the theory that men in particular avoid going to the doctor because we think we are immortal. I think that is not quite true. I think we avoid going to doctors and dentists because we are all too aware of our own mortality and don't want to find out what is wrong with us, even when we know we have cavities, high blood pressure, or whatever other nagging health concerns lurk in the back of our minds.
Think about it: dentists always nag you about flossing more. That's not exactly a message that stimulates the ego. It's much more fun to pretend nothing's wrong and eat another doughnut dipped in beer.
But there comes a time when you realize you have to figure out how to make your own dental appointments: you're 30 years of age, for god's sake, and your teeth aren't going to miraculously maintain themselves. You're not a superhero, after all. Plus, even superheroes need dental care--although if Superman wore braces, and the rubber bands snapped, that would be the most dangerous bit of orthodontia ever, because a rubber band traveling faster than a speeding bullet would be bound to cause some collateral damage.
Sometimes, you must stop evading the facts and do what needs to be done if you want to accept that you are 30 and technically an adult. Yes, I know: the tooth can hurt.
Yes, I went there.
posted by Devin at 3:53 PM
1 Comments:
Oh well done!
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