The 80-Something-Year -Old Dentist

It was the 1960s. Because he was at least eighty years old at the time, I estimated that Dr. Scrivello had attended dental school in the late 1800s.For all I know, he might have gone to dental school with Doc Holiday. His breath stun like carrion, and Dr. Scrivello’s hands would shake slightly with palsy. There were advantages to seeing Dr. Scrivello, of course. There was never a wait, as I seemed to be his only patient. He only charged $5 a visit, in part because he didn’t waste money on modern frills like Novocain and rarely used it.

?

Elite runners have completed marathons in less time than my typical appointment with Dr. Scrivello would take. The warranty on his dental work lasted about ten hours on a good visit. Because of the lingering pain, a result of his drilling my teeth, ?I would eat only cereal for the rest of the day and would watch sadly as my new filling dropped from my mouth into my bowl of Cap’n Crunch . ?I didn’t understand why my parents kept sending back to him. I understand now. They couldn’t afford a competent dentist.

?

I still remember my last visit to Dr. Scrivello. I was twelve years old. It seemed like I had been in his chair all day and had never felt so dreadfully alone. The pain was reaching an intolerable flaring crescendo, and I hurt deeper than even my bones. ?I hurt all over and I hurt inside out. I could take no more. I pushed him away and ran home with the dental smock still wrapped around my neck.? Dr. Scrivello told my parents never to bring? me back again. I was scared to death of the dentist and didn’t go back (to any dentist) for almost ten years. My teeth were a mess by then.

?