I went to the dentist last week where I paid $23 dollars per minute to have my retainer cemented back into place. This was a process that took all of ten minutes. Ten frakking minutes. It was like someone raped my bank account. And, to top it off, the dentist (who was not my normal dentist, by the way, and reeked of cheap cologne) informed me that I probably don't need my retainer anymore and that I should contact my orthodontist to see whether I need it or not. He told me after he'd already done the work, of course.
Plus, he also used me as a teaching tool for his new dental assistant. Mainly due to my cleft palate, which, he also informed me, was rather inflamed. (My palate, that is.) It was at this point I felt like saying, 'no shit, Sherlock' but since he had stuffed my mouth full of cotton pads and had a metal spike thing in my mouth I thought it might be a bad idea.
Anyway, I am used to being used as a teaching tool. Especially for new mothers of children with cleft lips and palates. Apparently, many of my nurses and doctors think that I am a good role model for these young children. You can insert your gaffuws of laughter here...me...a role model...yeah I'm laughing as well but the minute that those mothers come up to you with their wee sprogs, all bundled up after their first bout of surgery my heart (shrivelled as it may be) grows a little and I do my best to make them feel at ease. I repress as much of my nerdy side as possible and suddenly find myself transformed into 'an adult'. I smile at them, sincerely even, and tell them everything is going to be okay. Though, I do warn them that kids are cruel little bastards and they better be ready to support them through the worst of times and the best of times.
Well, that was a random tangent there. Which leads me onto another random story from my youth. As per course of being born with a cleft lip and palate I had to undergo a lot of speech therapy though all I remember of this is blowing paint through a straw and telling the therapist some story about dolls being raped by the boogey man as I played with the dolls and the spastic doll house.* This was all tested by my plastic surgeon getting me to read stories out loud so he and his med students could see how clearly I could speak and all that.
Normally, he picked the books so I found myself reading about how a cat with a hat terrified two kids with all sorts of insanity. ** Except for one time when I had a book of my own. Now, my memory might be a bit hazy but I seem to recall it being a Stephen King book (which was the norm for me at that stage) and I asked if I could read a passage from it instead. I'm pretty sure I found the most expletive leaden excerpt from that book and read that aloud in a clear and concise way. I can't recall who was more shocked, my parents or the med students. My plastic surgeon didn't even bat an eyelid. Then again, I later found out he does surgery not just on people's faces but on women's vagina's as well. I just hoped he washed his hands thoroughly before he operated on me...
So, my rebellions may have been small but they were still rebellions. "Damn the man, save the Empire!"
On that note I shall be gone. It's my mum's birthday today and I was up early making her a cupcake cake.
*It was made out of two shoe boxes if I remember correctly and the dolls looked like rejects from a mental hospital. You know, hair roughly cut off turning female Barbie into Butch Barbie...
** I love Dr Seuss but when you're sixteen, reading that aloud is kind of strange