09-01-2006, 05:46 PM
I wrote this to show people how I process the world....
A Dentist Appointment (From the standpoint of an "aspieDDer" (Asperger's + ADD)
I went to the dentist this morning. I arrived on time due to my “always leave 30 minutes early policy” which gets me out the door 30 minutes later than I had planned on leaving, therefore I leave on time.
I actually found the place. It always helps when the “direction giver” , in this case the receptionist, gives me an interesting landmark to navigate by. She said it was across from the cemetery… this being an auspicious place for a dentist office, allowed for proper memory committal.
When I arrived, my manager Brett was there. He always reminds us in the group meetings to “go to the dentist”. At first I took this personally and would stealthily check my breath by blowing into my cupped hand and sniffing the result. After he did this in several meetings I thought “maybe it was someone else in the group” after scanning my co-workers for signs of obvious dental decay. I finally realized that Brett was being strange. He has very nice teeth. They must be a thing of pride.
I was not shocked to see him at the dentist’s office and promptly asked him if he visited the dentist every morning. He smiled and did not answer. I did get the recommendation for this dentist from Brett… since he seemed to be a connoisseur of dental services. The second thought was that maybe he did not believe that I was going to the dentist and was “checking up” on me. Then I remembered he is in a rock band, certainly not your typical image of “The Man”.
I started on the paperwork; six sheets in all. I had to tell them where I lived 3 times, sign four times and answer many questions.
“Do you have shingles?” Yes, wooden ones.
They had a section that asked me if I smoked crack. I can imagine that would not be good for the teeth. I answered no.
Then came the most amazing questions…
First they asked me to rate my smile. I answered “5”, a safe choice. “What would make you feel like your smile was a ten?”. I thought hard and thought of… sharks.
I answered:
“My smile would be a 10 if I had rows of pointy serrated teeth that moved forward when I lost one”
I was taken back to the chair by a short, quiet man. He was shiny, bald and covered in medical blue. He laughed nervously at my observations.
In dentist’s offices, ceilings become walls. Patients are a captive, upward looking audience. The familiar small holes or cottage cheese bumps are now covered with glossy advertisements held in place with thumbtacks.
One had a very handsome dark-haired man. The look on his face was underlined by a white toothy smile. It seems as if someone had told him a very funny joke. The caption read “My dentist helped me eat slower and lose weight”. Between the x-rays, I quizzed the assistant. “How could a dentist help you eat slower and lose weight?”
Thoughts went through my head of drilling holes in teeth to expose nerves, setting them off kilter and extracting all the non-visible ones. A dentist would certainly not want there to be a gummy hole where magnificent white teeth once stood, only the molars should go. The assistant explained that the man on the poster had a device that was like a retainer. It slowed chewing and reduced the volume of the mouth. Slower chewing and less room to hold the food led to reduced caloric intake.
It all became clear, the man in the advertisement was smiling in that way because he was driven to insanity by this dental torture device. The thought of washing such a thing would put you off your food in the first place. I made sure that the assistant knew, I could bypass such a device with a diet of milkshakes and beer. A “food restricting retainer device” would not be effective. Always in search of solutions to the problems of modern man, I worked on more effective ways that the dentist could help people not eat. These thoughts started to become disturbing so I fixed my attention on the only poster that was not an advertisement.
This poster was currency green with a money-like border. The title was, “The 22 things that will make you successful”. The list seemed reasonable at first; ”Take care of your friends, take responsibility for yourself, put your family first”. I do these things! Pride filled my disposable dental cloth covered chest. I did not make it through the list before I jumped to the last suggestion. The last item on the list should be the most helpful to the success-seeking individual! “Only do things that would make your mother proud”. I stopped and started to think of “only doing things that would make my mother proud”. The assistant finished the gag reflex inducing x-rays. He asked me how I was doing.
I responded. I am not exactly sure what I said because my brain was committed to another process. He told me to stay in the chair. The dentist would be with me soon. He had just finished tending to my manager’s fine set of teeth.
I do many things that my mom would be somewhat non-committal about or might have only been proud of for one short week during my early development. Eating, walking, saying “excuse me”… but the past 35 years or so were filled with things that she would either not be proud of or even horrified by. I could not even think of my mother staring over my shoulder after a night of fulfilling lovemaking and saying “honey, I am so proud of you!” or patting me on the back after using the toilet successfully .
Item number 22, told me something I felt already. It confirmed that, in the logic of common wisdom, I am some grand failure.
My thoughts were interrupted by the voice of my manager asking for a sticker and a toy. I got out of the chair quickly to see what he had scored. The assistant asked me if I was OK… All I could think of was, “no, I am NOT OK! I am a failure!” . I said, “I am ok, I just want to see what kind of stickers you have.”
Brett was riffling through the box of toys to the joy of the two attractive assistants. They tried to hide their amusement by asking him where his next “gig” was. He found a toy car and I headed back to my station. Attractive assistants, stickers, toys and obvious respect because of his “Rock Star” status. I can see why Brett liked this place.
I got back to the chair as the dentist arrived. He was effeminate and had magnifying scopes on his eyeglasses that reminded me of “Silence of the Lambs”. “It opens its mouth and turns its head to the right…no! it turns its head to the other right!”
After 30 minutes of prodding and speaking in dentist code about buckles, occlusions and amalgams he told me that the dream about my teeth falling out was a common one. My teeth are fine but “they need to do some work”.
I asked him if his mother would be proud of everything he did. He was a doctor and obviously successful. He did not answer and went on to talk about gingivitis.
On top of discovering my “mother issues”, I also found out I have cavities and need “scaling”, I would rather sink money into some cool fun thing than my teeth and Brett got to the coolest toy before me.
I am going to pay to get my teeth fixed. I am starting to make number 22 a reality. Mom will be proud and I will be successful!
A Dentist Appointment (From the standpoint of an "aspieDDer" (Asperger's + ADD)
I went to the dentist this morning. I arrived on time due to my “always leave 30 minutes early policy” which gets me out the door 30 minutes later than I had planned on leaving, therefore I leave on time.
I actually found the place. It always helps when the “direction giver” , in this case the receptionist, gives me an interesting landmark to navigate by. She said it was across from the cemetery… this being an auspicious place for a dentist office, allowed for proper memory committal.
When I arrived, my manager Brett was there. He always reminds us in the group meetings to “go to the dentist”. At first I took this personally and would stealthily check my breath by blowing into my cupped hand and sniffing the result. After he did this in several meetings I thought “maybe it was someone else in the group” after scanning my co-workers for signs of obvious dental decay. I finally realized that Brett was being strange. He has very nice teeth. They must be a thing of pride.
I was not shocked to see him at the dentist’s office and promptly asked him if he visited the dentist every morning. He smiled and did not answer. I did get the recommendation for this dentist from Brett… since he seemed to be a connoisseur of dental services. The second thought was that maybe he did not believe that I was going to the dentist and was “checking up” on me. Then I remembered he is in a rock band, certainly not your typical image of “The Man”.
I started on the paperwork; six sheets in all. I had to tell them where I lived 3 times, sign four times and answer many questions.
“Do you have shingles?” Yes, wooden ones.
They had a section that asked me if I smoked crack. I can imagine that would not be good for the teeth. I answered no.
Then came the most amazing questions…
First they asked me to rate my smile. I answered “5”, a safe choice. “What would make you feel like your smile was a ten?”. I thought hard and thought of… sharks.
I answered:
“My smile would be a 10 if I had rows of pointy serrated teeth that moved forward when I lost one”
I was taken back to the chair by a short, quiet man. He was shiny, bald and covered in medical blue. He laughed nervously at my observations.
In dentist’s offices, ceilings become walls. Patients are a captive, upward looking audience. The familiar small holes or cottage cheese bumps are now covered with glossy advertisements held in place with thumbtacks.
One had a very handsome dark-haired man. The look on his face was underlined by a white toothy smile. It seems as if someone had told him a very funny joke. The caption read “My dentist helped me eat slower and lose weight”. Between the x-rays, I quizzed the assistant. “How could a dentist help you eat slower and lose weight?”
Thoughts went through my head of drilling holes in teeth to expose nerves, setting them off kilter and extracting all the non-visible ones. A dentist would certainly not want there to be a gummy hole where magnificent white teeth once stood, only the molars should go. The assistant explained that the man on the poster had a device that was like a retainer. It slowed chewing and reduced the volume of the mouth. Slower chewing and less room to hold the food led to reduced caloric intake.
It all became clear, the man in the advertisement was smiling in that way because he was driven to insanity by this dental torture device. The thought of washing such a thing would put you off your food in the first place. I made sure that the assistant knew, I could bypass such a device with a diet of milkshakes and beer. A “food restricting retainer device” would not be effective. Always in search of solutions to the problems of modern man, I worked on more effective ways that the dentist could help people not eat. These thoughts started to become disturbing so I fixed my attention on the only poster that was not an advertisement.
This poster was currency green with a money-like border. The title was, “The 22 things that will make you successful”. The list seemed reasonable at first; ”Take care of your friends, take responsibility for yourself, put your family first”. I do these things! Pride filled my disposable dental cloth covered chest. I did not make it through the list before I jumped to the last suggestion. The last item on the list should be the most helpful to the success-seeking individual! “Only do things that would make your mother proud”. I stopped and started to think of “only doing things that would make my mother proud”. The assistant finished the gag reflex inducing x-rays. He asked me how I was doing.
I responded. I am not exactly sure what I said because my brain was committed to another process. He told me to stay in the chair. The dentist would be with me soon. He had just finished tending to my manager’s fine set of teeth.
I do many things that my mom would be somewhat non-committal about or might have only been proud of for one short week during my early development. Eating, walking, saying “excuse me”… but the past 35 years or so were filled with things that she would either not be proud of or even horrified by. I could not even think of my mother staring over my shoulder after a night of fulfilling lovemaking and saying “honey, I am so proud of you!” or patting me on the back after using the toilet successfully .
Item number 22, told me something I felt already. It confirmed that, in the logic of common wisdom, I am some grand failure.
My thoughts were interrupted by the voice of my manager asking for a sticker and a toy. I got out of the chair quickly to see what he had scored. The assistant asked me if I was OK… All I could think of was, “no, I am NOT OK! I am a failure!” . I said, “I am ok, I just want to see what kind of stickers you have.”
Brett was riffling through the box of toys to the joy of the two attractive assistants. They tried to hide their amusement by asking him where his next “gig” was. He found a toy car and I headed back to my station. Attractive assistants, stickers, toys and obvious respect because of his “Rock Star” status. I can see why Brett liked this place.
I got back to the chair as the dentist arrived. He was effeminate and had magnifying scopes on his eyeglasses that reminded me of “Silence of the Lambs”. “It opens its mouth and turns its head to the right…no! it turns its head to the other right!”
After 30 minutes of prodding and speaking in dentist code about buckles, occlusions and amalgams he told me that the dream about my teeth falling out was a common one. My teeth are fine but “they need to do some work”.
I asked him if his mother would be proud of everything he did. He was a doctor and obviously successful. He did not answer and went on to talk about gingivitis.
On top of discovering my “mother issues”, I also found out I have cavities and need “scaling”, I would rather sink money into some cool fun thing than my teeth and Brett got to the coolest toy before me.
I am going to pay to get my teeth fixed. I am starting to make number 22 a reality. Mom will be proud and I will be successful!