Clean Teeth

Yesterday, while reclined in a plastic-covered cushioned chair with my head back, mouth open, eyes nearly closed, I felt relaxed. I was not near death nor catatonic nor anything needed to be feared, worried about, labeled, or contained. I was in a dentist chair, getting my teeth cleaned for the first time in over three years. I was in a sterile setting with a masked medical professional above me, and I was not afraid.

When was the last time I got my teeth cleaned? That was one of the first questions the hygienist asked me, and although the answer came quite quickly, the thought process to reach the answer was anything but simple. So much has happened. I can’t believe it’s only been three and a half years. The last time I went in for my regular six-month cleaning was back in Rhode Island, Newport to be exact, when I was still a dog walker, my record busiest day, the same day taken straight from my memoir when I got the call from that guy who needed help—the guy who sought therapy and instead got taken into the hospital. I left the dentist part out of my book because it was too much for one chapter. I left a few dog walks, pet sitting visits, and another character out too because to include all the details would have made it too complicated. I wrote only what was absolutely necessary to get the story out and message across, but life is always so much more complex. Somehow, somewhere in between handling the devastation of losing another to the abusive system of mental hospitals, directing the unwritten character around to help move the cars and bring the dogs back home, and stopping at a few extra pet obligations, I squeezed in my dentist appointment and made it there almost on time.

While there, they asked me a few pre-cleaning questions and gave me a few curious, small-town looks. One of the questions they asked was if I was taking any medications, to which I answered honestly, “No.” Hyped on stress and fueled by adrenalin, I left after the appointment and continued my extremely complicated and full of responsibilities day. I left, aware in the moment that I had entered a turning point in my life and aware that for a while—for three and a half years, it turns out—I might have to trust only myself and become a hero for a mass number of people for a mass number of reasons.

Teleported forward to yesterday, in the reclined cushioned chair, safe behind the large lenses of shaded glasses, I let my eyelids close as the hygienist comforted me with her soothing words, airy descriptions of the cleaning process, and casual friendly jokes. She never asked me about medications. She didn’t judge me catatonic for spacing out or manic for speaking out hilarious truths every now and then either. She simply cleaned my teeth and then guided me out the door with a few offered gifts of toothpaste, a toothbrush, floss, and mouthwash.

Love and care.

For a while, I didn’t think these attributes were possible in the medical world. Many people, myself included, cut off, hated, feared, and swore to never open up or lie beneath the hand of a medical professional ever again. Mental hospitals and psych medications traumatized us. They taught us to see in black and white. They taught us that if these systems were rooted in lies, torture, and abuse, so too were all medical areas.

But per usual, they were wrong.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel, not only for people who have been abused by so-called systems for health, but also for people who genuinely know the body and care. Physical ailments are real. Teeth truly do rot and fall out if not properly cared for and professionally cleaned every once in a while. Bones can break, pregnancies can happen, and no one is immune to disease and infection no matter how healthy and preventative their lifestyle.

I’m not saying any of this to instill fear. I’m saying all of this with purpose and passion. To have watched my own personal health care system destroy itself by trusting and falling victim to the lies of the neighboring psych world, I watched the entire world’s health care system do the same. The fire spread. The devastation ensued, but after it all, we each now have the power to empower and rebuild, the way we want to, the way we would for ourselves, for our children, for our animals, and world.

In my world, everyone is allowed to feel. Everyone is allowed to heal, to discover, to spiritually connect, and to socialize or be on their own. People can choose their own tools and avenues for health—they don’t have to rely on another or give up their own intuition and power. Nature, care, and love make up the foundation. Soothing guides are the doorway, and self-trust is the cure. In my world, my cat never has to fear that she might lose her mother in the blink of a mental hospital’s abusive eye. She has me every night now. She has me clean, healed, and more heroic than ever. She has me, and I have her, and thank goodness, thank God, my journey as a sole hero without faith in others was only a job I had to do for three and a half years, because while an immense amount happened in that time, it all happened so fast. And in the end, I got to leave with all my teeth, clean and intact, and re-enter a world completely changed and worthy of trust.