|Dentail care from the US (gifts each Christmas)|
There are certain parts of growing up that I have delayed for as long as I can. I don’t own any property or automobiles. I don’t know anything about a retirement plan. I don’t have any framed art on my walls. And, until this week, I had never scheduled my own dentist appointment. Whoops.
Up until I left the US, and even a year or two after at Christmastime, I went to the same dentist as my family. I said, “Dad, I need to go to the dentist, right?” and the appointment was made. The last one I went to was a family friend, so it worked out nicely.
But living in Paris for nearly five years now, I thought it might be time to go and get a checkup, just in case, by a local dentist. I floss, I brush faithfully, but I wanted an expert’s opinion. That’s what adults do, right?
After Googling dental terms in French, I was prepared to make an appointment, per the suggestion of my friend Lindsey. How do you pick a doctor or a dentist? Ask around, apparently, and hope for the best.
Well, I made an appointment, and just two weeks later I found myself in the hot seat at 11:30, with the dentist and his assistant ready to dig inside my mouth. All of the natural fear that comes with going to the dentist was hidden behind a fear of not understanding what he was going to ask me (how do you say “right incisor” or “inflamed gums” in French?). But none of that mattered for the moment.