In The News
Dentist office's sign of changing times
Craig Daily Press
February 8, 2002
I did something on Thursday that I've been avoiding for quite some time now.
I made a trip to the dentist's office.
Despite being an avid brusher, and having spent the better part of my early teen years under the supervision of an obsessive-compulsive orthodontist, a recently-chipped tooth was enough to make up my mind for me.
Having not seen a dentist in what would be best described as "a couple of years," my apprehension built in the days leading up to my visit.
It didn't help that highlights of "The Little Shop of Horrors," with Steve Martin as the dentist, were being shown on television Wednesday night.
There was one thing, however, that did make it a little better for me.
I've known my dentist since I was in elementary school.
Although that may not sound like much to many people, when you consider the fact that I was born and raised in Davenport, Iowa, I think it's kind of a big deal.
My new dentist is actually an old friend.
About one month after arriving in Craig, I returned from lunch one day to find a note from someone named Jim McCreight.
The only person I knew by that name was a guy from back home, but I didn't believe it could actually be him.
So I e-mailed my father, who is now a high school athletic director, but at one time was a teacher and swim coach at another high school.
One of his former swimmers was named Jim McCreight — one of the few swimmers that didn't use me as a pint-sized punching bag in my pre-teen years.
So I asked my dad if he knew what Jim was doing nowadays.
"I think he's a dentist in Steamboat Springs," was his reply.
Gee dad, thanks for keeping me posted.
Adding to his negligence is that fact that Jim's mother, Chris, is also an assistant principal at the same high school where my dad works.
Their offices are about 10 feet apart.
Yet it never dawned on him to let me know that there might be someone in Northwest Colorado that I might know.
After all, it's only about 1,200 miles between Davenport and Craig.
So I contacted Jim, caught up on old times, and eventually made an appointment.
And now that I've survived my first dental visit in years, I have to admit that it really wasn't that bad.
A lot has changed since last time.
No more strings tied to doorknobs, no more Black and Decker drills, and no more restraining straps.
Maybe my memories are a little skewed.
Not being a fan of dentistry, more precisely — pain, I thought it might be a lot worse.
I actually was able to watch on a television monitor as the dental hygienist showed me an up-close look at the inside of my mouth.
I got to wear sunglasses to help keep the lights out of my eyes.
I sat in a vibrating chair.
I was tempted to ask for a key so that I could come in on Saturday afternoons and lounge around while I watched golf.
I couldn't figure out why things had improved so much over the last few years.
Where did all the loud drills, medicinal aromas and painful treatment go?
Then it hit me. It had to be too good to be true.
At age 29, I came to grips with what measures must be taken to lead to a pleasurable dental experience.
I realized that it just might not be the changes in technology, vibrating chairs or soothing music that made for an improved check-up, as much as the fact that if I need it, I have access to a picture of my dentist wearing a Speedo swimsuit.
Jeff Swanson
Staff Writer
Craig Daily Press
www.craigdailypress.com