“Ow!” Nick Cried after forgetting to chew on his good side. With his finger, he peeled the sticky candy from his sensitive tooth, but the pain persisted. He called his dentist but she was away. A friend recommended Dr. Pic.
“Don’t let the name throw you. He’s a great dentist.”
Dr. Pic, however, was also on vacation.
“You can still make an appointment. Dr. Wringer’s filling in for him,” the receptionist said.
Dr. Pic’s storefront office reminded Nick of a colonial stockade he once saw in a movie. It consisted of a door, and a wall, both of log-like panelings. His shingle hung in a small window, top-center in the wall.
The waiting room, box-like and empty, contained a cost rack, a magazine table, a large willow plant, and three-seater armchairs of aluminum and leather. Through a sliding window sat a receptionist with blue-streaked, black hair. Rock music piped out of the sound system.
“I don’t know you so you must be new,” the receptionist said with a laugh, handing Nick a card on a clipboard with an attached pen to fill out. When he handed it back to her, she looked it over.
“Follow me,” she said, and led him down a corridor, and through a curtain to a hydraulic chair.
“Have a seat. The doctor will see you soon.”
Before any doctor arrived, a technician appeared, and introduced herself as Hattie. She was older than the receptionist, dressed conservatively, and wore a lab coat. She took some x-rays, and spoke with pride of a little garden she had cultivated in her yard space behind the office in her free time.
“I had it weed-free for the longest time, but now, poison ivy’s cropping up, and I can’t seem to get rid of it,” she said.
“When does Dr. Pic return?” Nick asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, gravely, and her mood darkened before she vanished.
Alone, he gazed at a huge and intricate tooth diagram on a red background, hanging on the wall. Numerous arrows, thin and black, highlighting its components, made it appear covered with hair. He looked it over until he heard a man’s voice:
“What did you do to your hair”
“Sharon, my pal, did it. What do you think?” the receptionist asked.
“And what did you do to your pal Sharon to have her exact so savage a revenge?”
“I can’t believe you don’t like it, and that you’d tell me to my face,” she said, exasperated.
“Don’t have a baby, baby. The tooth’s my game.”
“But I did it for you.”
“It’ll grow on me. What can I say.”
In a flash, the man stood before Nick.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Wringer,” he said, shaking his hand. “What can I do for you?”
“I have a toothache,” Nick said, pointing to his tooth.
The dentist was young, possibly thirty, and slim. His hair, brown and quill-like, stood out among his other features. He mounted the x-ray, and frowned.
“These will never do. Take another set,” he said to Hattie.
She rolled her eyes once he left the area. Then she dragged the lead apron over Nick a second time. It was heavy, and felt like something dead.
The second set of x-rays pleased him.
“So you didn’t get your technician’s certificate in a box of breakfast cereal,” he said with mock elation.
He examined the x-rays. “I see you’ve had some root canals done, but this toothache is due to a bad filling.”
“Let’s set up for a filling, and get it right the first time around,” he said to Hattie before injecting Nick with Novocain.
Several minutes later, he reached for his drill. He drilled hard. The drill’s whir screamed at Nick who soon raised his hand to indicate pain. Dr. Wringer stopped drilling, and injected Nick with more Novocain. It accelerated his heart, and made him light-sensitive. He still felt pain. He raised his hand again, and again, more Novocain.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a local, practically harmless,” Dr. Wringer said, noting Nick’s apprehension at the dosage.
But it’s not drinking water, Nick thought just as the dentist stopped drilling, and lost himself in thought.
“I think it’s a root canal, after all,” he said at length, and barked orders to Hattie to scrap the filling preparation, and to set up for a root canal.
Moodily, the receptionist entered the area.
“Ms. Frank’s new dentist called for her records. I would have sent them to her without bothering you, but the files are locked, and the key’s hidden.”
“You’re a real peach today,” Dr. Wringer said, and excused himself.
“That’s not the first call for records that he’s gotten,” Hattie said, glad to be telling on Dr. Wringer. “Bernie, that’s blue hair, is taken with him. She was a good girl before he came, but now they’re kissing cousins, and he’s married. He hates me. He wants me out.”
“Isn’t that up to Dr. Pic? Nick asked.
“Dr. Pic’s not coming back. He said the practice was blinding him, and that he had to give it up, but I think he’s got AIDS,” she whispered, and put a finger to her lips as Dr. Wringer reappeared.
“Velma Franks is mad. She’s changing dentists because one out of four crowns that I did for her didn’t take,” he said.
“Doctor, this is hardly the time or pl-,” Hattie began, but Dr. Wringer interrupted her, shouting:
“I’ve nothing to hide. Nobody does crowns better. Nobody. That crown didn’t take because she kept manipulating it with her dumb tongue. I should have extracted that first.”
Fuming, he reached for the drill.
“Shouldn’t I see an endodontist for root canal? Nick asked hopefully.
“No. This one’s child’s play. I can handle it.”
Night had fallen by the time Nick left the dentist. Novocain numbness kept him from knowing if the toothache was gone. In the morning, he awoke with it alive and well. His jaw was also swollen.
“I look like I’ve been punched in the mouth,” he said over the phone.
“Come in at once,” Dr. Wringer said, concerned.
That concern worried Nick more than his tooth.
“Probably a minor infection,” Dr. Wringer said, unconvincingly, as Nick sat in the chair.
The doctor took an x-ray himself, and studied it. Then he drilled a tiny hole in Nick’s temporary filling.
“Let’s see what this does,” he said, and prescribed an antibiotic, and a painkiller.
“What was the matter?” Nick asked.
“Don’t strain your brain over it. If you’re not better by tonight, come in again. If you’re okay, then wait for your regular appointment,” Dr. Wringer said.
Nick’s condition cleared by late afternoon. He remembered his previous root canals. Painkillers and antibiotics had been prescribed from the start. He also remembered the endodontist telling him that he was drilling a hole in his temporary filling to allow a gaseous buildup from the treated root to escape, and not cause a problem. He suspected Dr. Wringer of negligence, and wrestled with himself over keeping his scheduled appointment. He kept it, however, because most of the root had been treated, and he wanted closure, and a permanent filling, without the hassle to having to find and visit another dentist.
Bernie, the receptionist, greeted him. Her mouth was swollen, and her manner was subdued.
“Oral surgery, but he doesn’t charge staff,” she said with difficulty.
Hattie took an x-ray.
“Today’s my last day. I’m not waiting to be fired. He’s nuts. Now he’s got extraction on the brain. That little fool, blue hair, let him pull a tooth, but I wouldn’t let him pull my valise,” she said.
Her remarks tempted Nick to flee the office, but he bit the bullet, and for his resolve, he got a completed root canal, and a permanent filling.
“Root canal therapy doesn’t last forever. Throbbing toothaches, excruciatingly painful, often strike without warning from older root canals. You might want to make an appointment to come in next week, and get yours examined. Extraction may be called for,” Dr. Wringer said.
“Are you sure you needed that extraction?” Nick asked Bernie, leaving the office.
“Oh yes, Ed’s the best. He knows what he’s doing. As soon as I’m over this one, I’ll be having another,” she said.
Some distance from the dentist, Nick passed a cemetery. Crescent shaped tombstones of white reminded him of giant teeth. That night he dreamt of a giant Dr. Wringer, stalking the cemetery with giant pliers, plucking out the tombstone teeth, which came up from the earth dripping red.
