Sticky Eyeballs In H*LL

I spent half the day in H*ll. I hope it is not practice for anything coming up in the near future. #2 son had the dentist appointment at 11:30. They told us to be there at 11:20 to fill out forms. We arrived at 11:10. Then the old lady couldn't find the kids' form, so I had to stand for 5 minutes at the gates of that sweltering h*llhole. I swear, that place was hotter than the upstairs of my mom's brick split-level in July. With the windows closed. It had to be 85 degrees in there. It's a sad day when you are relieved by a cool breeze as you walk outside into a sunny August afternoon in Missouri.

One minute after I started filling out the three forms, another lady came out and asked #2 if he was ready to come back. He said, "Give me a minute." It was his first time ever to the dentist, you know. I ain't proud of it. The #1 son has been several times for cleanings, but not this one. I told her it was his first time, and he wanted me to go in with him. He's 9 years old. An immature 9. I take full responsibility for babying him.

After about two minutes had passed, the lady came and called #2 back into the exam rooms. He did not want to go without me. She said I could come in as soon as I filled out the forms. After all the phone numbers and addresses and insurance plans and work addresses and work numbers and checklist of allergies and medications and tooth sensitivity and brushing and diet questions, I turned it in. I left my insurance card with the doddering old woman who resembled Prissy, the old hen in the Foghorn Leghorn cartoons. You know, the one who has that little chick with the big glasses, Egghead Jr. She said, "I'll just get a copy of your card." I told her I would pick it up when I came out, thinking, perhaps, it was cooler in the exam rooms, and I would not melt like a cheap candle purchased as a Christmas gift at The Devil's Playground. But NO! It was even hotter in the exam room. By the time we were done, my face was the color of a McDonald's dollar menu medium fries box. And I had underboob sweat. Plus scalp sweat trickling down in front of my ears and down the back of my neck. Even the boy, who spends his days wrapped in an afgan on the living room couch, said, "It's kind of hot in here." They never explained the problem, but promised that the next time we came, it would be cooler.

OH NO! I just had an O. Henry thought. What if they were going to use our payment money to fix the air conditioner, but I couldn't pay them today because I had to spend that money at the ER for treatment of my HEAT STROKE that I had in their office? All right. Maybe that is too far-fetched, even for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.

I found my boy in an exam room, having just had one set of x-rays, and going to another room for a bigger set of x-rays. He was quite the model patient during the picking of the teeth and removal of the tooth skin and the polishing of his chompers. Then the dentist came in and poked and spoke code for the marking of his chart. He had one little cavity, brown, not deep, on a baby tooth. About which the dentist said, "No treatment, of course." Because, duh...that sucker is going to come out anyway. The dentist said the boy's jaw is aligned correctly and all teeth are there that should be there, and even has wisdom teeth buds forming on the lower jaw. He then mentioned a fluoride treatment, which is good, because we are on the well water; no fluoride added to the Mansion's pristine supply of sinkhole run-off. The poor boy did not catch the part about the fluoride treatment, and when the dentist left the room, he told the assistant, "I can just slip this over my head" and took off his lovely pink paper bib thingy. She quickly put it back, and told him about the fluoride. Wow. Kids these days are lucky. The way I remember it, you had to sit with your teeth in that jelly stuff for 30 minutes. His was only one minute. And then he got to choose a toy from the big basket of reward toys, but didn't see anything he liked, and requested the popular Sticky Hand. The assistant said they didn't have Sticky Hands, but thought she could round up a Sticky Eyeball. Go figure! My son's dentist has Sticky Eyeballs!

The plan is to seal the molars on Monday, and then come back in six months for a check-up. That boy got off easy, methinks, for as seldom as he brushes his teeth. Oh, and we are going to get him an electric toothbrush and force him to brush for two minutes, twice a day.

Because the less time I can spend in H*ll, the better.