Julie Jay: Trips to the dentist can often be a kick in the teeth 

As Number One played with the dentures model in the foyer, I couldn’t help but think back to when I was a child and going to these types of appointments myself.

THIS week, Number One and I marched off to the dentist. It was a new dentist, because we like to keep things interesting, and the surgery was located in the business quarter of downtown Tralee.

Once Mammy had worked out the parking situation (why does everything involve downloading an app?), we arrived, a little late, but arrived nonetheless, into our new dental practice and immediately got the feeling that we had happened upon a pretty fancy spot. So fancy was it that I also instantly felt underdressed and regretted not washing my face in advance.

Our new dentist’s reception area is so instantly soothing, I was almost envious of the patients waiting for a root canal. The sparkling floors scream, ‘We don’t reuse toothpicks here,’ while the funny ornaments, depicting old-school dentists, complete with monocles, tell us this dentist also knew how to have fun.

As Number One played with the dentures model in the foyer, I couldn’t help but think back to when I was a child and going to these types of appointments myself.

My dad always said that, as a parent, he was so proud he had given us good teeth and good manners, and, to be fair, there are worse metrics for parenting. As an adult, I can confidently say I haven’t been as diligent with my teeth as my parents were when they were looking after them. As a self-employed comedian, it is easy to let these things slide, because, these days, going to the dentist, like double-quilted toilet paper, can sometimes feel like a bit of a luxury.

Yet as I sat perusing leaflets on gum disease, I vowed, there and then, to start re-visiting the dentist again, but not before I finally started flossing.

After all, what is the point of even having the VHI if you can’t treat yourself to the utter joy of having a stranger suck the spit out of your mouth? To experience a clean after a filling is to truly feel alive, especially when you are trying to justify health insurance.

Of course, I never volunteer the fact I have health insurance, because the last time I attempted to do so, I gleefully told a doctor’s secretary ‘I have HIV’. Needless to say, this is a very different thing from VHI and provokes a very different response.

When we were called into the dentist’s surgery, we had to venture to the third floor, and Number One and I were almost getting dizzy as we climbed the stairs, because, to us, this was skyscraper levels of skyline.

The dental chair, as ever, was a big hit: It went up, it went down; it was basically the amusements, but cheaper. Donning a pair of darkened goggles, which gave him a real Blues Brothers effect, Number One was loving life as the light was lowered and the dentist went in for a gander.

We got on great, bar learning there was a bit of damage to one tooth, which the dentist put down to too much sugar, and, honestly, it took all I had not to start self-flagellating on the spot.

“Does he drink a lot of fizzy drinks?” she asked, and I baulked. He has never had a fizzy drink, ever, I insisted, and I was being totally truthful.

“Sweets, maybe?” She asked, and again I almost fell off my chair — admittedly an easy thing to do, given it was a swivel. He very rarely has sweets. I never buy them, and have a total aversion to those neon packets of tooth-killers that lurk around checkout tills.

Hardly ever, I said, and again there was no lie detected.

“Cakes? Biscuits?” She probed, and this time my answer was a little more vague. The truth is, I love a baked treat, procuring either a doughnut from the bakery or a croissant from the shop on a near-daily basis.

Most days, especially when on my own with the children, my baked treat is the only thing that keeps me going, and because Number 1 is always by my side, it feels cruel not to see him indulge in a little bun as well.

FEELING my face flush a little, I made a noise that announced my guilt. The dentist, to her credit, refrained from chastising, but instead reminded me that the constant grazing is what impacts teeth, something which really clicked with me, because when it comes to my children, the truth is, I am constantly feeding them. I live in continual fear that if they don’t get offered some class of snack every 30 minutes, they will report me to the relevant authorities: That is, Nana.

Armed with some tips for cleaning our teeth, Number One happily descended the stairs, skipping along and telling anyone who would listen he had just been to the dentist and ‘got on great’.

He received a special gold star for being the best patient of the day, a coveted title and something we have been working towards for a long, long time. Thankfully, all those practice sessions of dentist-patient role play at home finally paid off, and we could take the gold home.

As I bundled Number One into his car seat, he told me Daddy had taught him a good joke that he had forgotten to tell the dentist, so I asked him to share it with me, because I always need material.

“What is the dentist’s favourite boat?’ He asked, before giving it a beat. ‘A tooth ferry!” He declared. And I couldn’t help but giggle, because it is a pretty good joke.

At that moment, I spot the traffic warden. “We just made it by the skin of our teeth,” I say to Number One, who ignores me and plays with his gum disease leaflet.

If there’s one thing that’s for sure, you’re never too long in the tooth for a pun.