I had a dentist appointment today, just a routine cleaning, although my dentist likes for me to come every three to four months because calcium builds quickly on my teeth.
Unlike my previous dentist, who not only inflicted a lot of pain, but seemed to like it, trips to my current dentist are usually pleasant. Everyone is very friendly, and they do their best to make it as painless as possible. Plus, when I've had problems, they've taken me right away and solved it quickly.
I even had a wisdom tooth removed without pain!
Today, the usual hygienist cleaned my teeth; I've gotten used to her calling me "my friend" (which she did on my first visit), or "honey," since I think she calls everyone one or both of those. We talked about her recent skiing-related injury, and how the main thing she was worried about when someone came to her aid at the bottom of the mountain was that he'd call her "ma'am."
After the X-rays and the cleaning, she said she wanted to look at my tongue, my lips and my cheeks. I was pretty sure why, and sure enough, when she was done, she informed me that I was clear of oral cancer.
That's not a surprise, since I've never used tobacco in my life, but still ... she said cancer during my exam.
Cancer
Cancer killed my best friend. Cancer killed at least two of my cats. And now someone was checking me for cancer.
To be honest, I'm at the age where today shouldn't have been the first time I talked with someone about cancer, but I haven't been to a doctor for a few years. (I know, I know ...)
And even though I was fine, talking about it was a little unnerving.
