Visit to dentist makes impression

Gag me with a mouth guard

Date published: 11/20/2009

By Edie Gross

"ARE YOU a gag- ger?" she asked, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

That's odd, I thought, squirming in the dental chair. If I could have scripted how a visit to the doctor should NOT begin, that's exactly the scene I would've come up with.

"In what sense?" I said, opting for the least inappropriate response that coursed through my mind in that moment.

I'd gagged once on a guava pastry that my fourth-grade Spanish teacher brought to class. Turns out guava is an acquired taste.

I'd gagged a few years ago from the stench emanating from my stepdaughter's sneakers.

I perennially gagged on the tongue depressor at the doctor's office.

Did that make me "a gagger"?

I was at the dentist's office to get an impression of my mouth for a night guard, a device I prayed would keep me from grinding what was left of my teeth into a powdery oblivion.

Sometimes otherwise perfectly normal patients gag while the dentist is taking that impression, the gloved hygienist explained, handing me a wad of tissues and a bib.

Since I'd never had a tray of quick-drying sodium alginate shoved into my mouth, I couldn't really be sure what I'd do.

"I guess we'll see," I said hopefully.

As it turns out, I'm a gagger. Big-time.

In my defense, I was out of practice. I haven't had a mouthful of concrete since 1987, when I tumbled down the stairs of an airplane, face-first onto the tarmac of a German airport.

I hadn't gagged then. Though now that I think about it, that material had more of an asphalt bouquet to it. Plus, it wasn't slimy.

Gelatinous textures tend to give my tongue a major case of the willies. Raw oysters, caviar, flan--all can trigger a gag reflex.

So a wad of putty squishing out of a dental tray and sliding down the back of my throat was probably a given.

The sign on the wall of the dentist's office said "NO WHINING," so I whimpered instead, trying not to gag so hard it would mess up the impression.

I didn't want to have to do it over. And not getting one was not an option.

My husband complains that I scrape my teeth together so loudly at night that I've woken him up several times.

This wouldn't be such a big deal to me if the lack of sleep didn't make him too tired to cook the five-course, gourmet meals I've grown accustomed to since marrying him. But a girl's gotta eat.

Speaking of which, that's easier to do when your teeth haven't been ground down to calcified, jagged nubs.

Hence the need for the night guard.

At the dentist's office, it took about 90 gag-inducing seconds for the plaster in my mouth to harden.

My dentist says I could have the night guard within a week.

Now, I just have to come up with the cash to pay for it since it's not covered by insurance.

Gag.

Edie Gross: 540/374-5428
Email: egross@freelancestar.com

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Date published: 11/20/2009