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Teething Troubles
Last week when my usual dentist Mr Isaacs was away I saw one of his
colleagues, a Mr Fairweather, instead. Although I had always been happy enough with Mr
Isaacs' actual treatment, he did one thing that always annoyed me. He was
invariably late and never ever referred to it. I used to lie in his chair,
silently cursing and fuming thinking: 'You cannot treat me like this.' Under my
breath when the water was coursing noisily round the spittoon I'd rehearse my
attack through clenched teeth, 'Look. Where's my sorry? I'm busy too, you
know. You're not the only one' Sometimes I had dreams at night where I even
billed him for my time (on stiff bits of card in turquoise italic script
written with a quill pen) as I imagined he would do if I were half an hour late.
But, of course, I never ever said anything. I didn't get where I am today by
expressing anger to people who've let me down and for all I know the wrongest
possible things would come blurting out. 'Where were you when I was growing up
and needed you!" Well that would hardly do.
Mr Fairweather by contrast was four minutes late and apologised for it at
some length with humour and elegance. His assistant, rather sweetly, was
sporting a Minnie Mouse dental tabard which immediately put me at my ease and
when I had my injection and held her hand, she made it seem as though the honour
was
entirely hers. The merry repartee that flew through the air as the session
progressed was so enjoyable it blinded me to the attrition of my lower buccal
molar. When I was child we were brought up to think that going to he dentist
as
a bit of a treat, not pampering exactly, nor cause for celebration, but
certainly to have the undivided attention of a fully trained professional for
ten minutes twice a year was considered no mean feat. Before my session with
Dr
Fairweather was finished I had decided I must swap dentists. But as I left
his
surgery my new best friend shook my hand and said, 'Don't forget to have your
regular check up with Mr Isaccs in the next few weeks. We're very strict
about not taking each other's patients. You wont get me into trouble now, will
you?'
Over the next few days all my talk was of dentists and punctuality and
disappointment and Not Accepting Second Best. Mr. Fairweather's parting words
haunted me. Their quiet dignity seemed so in character, I pointed out to anyone
who would listen. The sense of fair play. The modesty. Seventeen other members
of my husband's family see Mr Isaacs and have done for years and I conducted
a little survey among them to try to uncover any other discontents. There were
none. I was the only disappointed party. Then yesterday I decided to
address the issue. I phoned the surgery and spoke to the receptionist. 'Can
I talk to you about a rather delicate matter,' I said. 'In
confidence.' After checking I had dialled the correct number she agreed. 'If
I were a patient of one dentist at your surgery and wanted to change to another,
what
would the procedure be?'
'Oh,' she said. 'May I ask why you want to change.'
'It's just that I seemed to have more of a rapport' (be mild, be
non-blaming, I self-instructed) 'with the dentist I saw while my dentist was away than I
normally have with my normal dentist.'
'Oh, I see.'
Would you mind making some subtle enquiries for me?' I asked. 'Will do.' ' If you could ask about it, in the abstract, of course. Not mentioning any
names. '
'I do understand'
'I really don't wish to upset anyone.'
'You leave it with me.'
Putting down the phone I realised quite how anxious this matter had made me
and now I was at the stormy heart of a major dental intrigue. Still, I got on
with my day. I began my new novel which is to be a dark psychological drama
set in a nursery school. I read a book I'm reviewing. I even bought myself two
almost identical Marni tweed skirts in which to look convincing at the school
gates. Then I took my winter shoes and boots to be reheeled and resoled.
When I returned there was a message from the dentist's on the machine. 'Good
afternoon. Its Karen from the surgery ringing you back.' I held my breath.
'Just to say I explained everything to Mr Isaccs and he's totally cool about
you switching to Mr Fairweather. He says "No problem" Allrighty? Thank you.
Bye now. Bye.'
Mary walks in and I sew up the hem of the Cinderella dress she is wearing
while she keeps very still. Some people's ideas of international-level tact and
diplomacy certainly leave a lot to be desired.
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