last week: i go to the dentist to fix the new filling just filled, you know–a month ago–after it cracked while i chewed a very soft, harmless piece of gum. as i settle into the chair, i realize: oh ess, i might be pregnant. i express this thought with dr k, and he immediately removes my fancy bib. “no dental work today,” he tells me. “if it turns out you’re pregnant, please have your dr consult with me so we can move forward…so, are you trying to get pregnant, or was this just-one-of-those-things?”
“well, we’re lesbians, so it was rather purposeful,” i reply. [note: h. and i have both seen this dentist for nearly two years now. we are usually at the office together.
“oh really?” his eyebrows lift over his dentist mask. “do you go to a clinic or do that baster thing?”
…i can’t believe i’m discussing this with my dentist, but i offer: baster method, only with a syringe.
“cool,” dr k says before walking away from me.
i leave with the hole in my mouth.
fast forward to my rescheduled appointment yesterday. the appointment where my new filling was refilled, three new cavities were filled, and the crown i’ve had for only a year was replaced. [read: cracked and yanked and drilled and cracked some more.]
as dr k is trying–unsuccessfully, for the 4th time–to numb my mouth, he asks, in passing, “so, i guess you’re not pregnant, then?”
my mouth is pried open with the wedge and his fingers pushing on my tongue, so i offer him a “no” in sign language. his response?
“cool. that’s great.”
…or was it “good for you”?