Going to the dentist has never been on my list of favorite things to do. It was merely an obligatory calendar date every six months to avoid dental problems. The success of this strategy has been confirmed over the years. Of the people my age in Spain, I am one of the few that does not have false teeth, implants, or a bridge of some sort. This has a simple explanation. It is only necessary to journey back 50 years ago to the rip-roaring days of Franco, when dictators were dictators.
When I first arrived in Spain in the late 1960s, it was before globalization. At that time, Spain and the USA were two different planets. There were deep cultural differences, which I would progressively discover when I decided to live there. However, initially, I was struck by the fact that many young people of my age had such bad teeth. Sometimes a smile showed teeth that were brown or black, or even gaps where teeth were missing altogether.
To my astonishment, I discovered that no one ever went to the dentist unless they were in unbearable pain. Dentists were regarded as the modern-day reincarnation of Torquemada, the Grand Inquisitor of the 15th century. Anyone that voluntarily visited the dentist for a check-up was suspected of being a masochist or a likely candidate for psychiatric treatment. People only went to the dentist to get a tooth pulled.
Some of my Spanish friends were surprised that at the age of 19, I still had all of my teeth. And I was surprised that they were surprised.
I had come from a world where even baby teeth were filled if they had cavities. Bi-annual visits to the dentist were the rule. Elementary school teachers taught dental hygiene with a plastic mouth and a large toothbrush. Lots of my classmates had worn braces to straighten their teeth.
Now suddenly I was living in a place where fillings were regarded as high technology, and people only went to the dentist to have their teeth pulled when there was no other solution. In Spain, one of my friends worked as a dental assistant. She complained that all of the teeth on the floor around the dentist chair crunched when she stepped on them. Apparently, teeth were only swept up at the end of the day.
My persistent wish to visit the dentist twice a year for no apparent reason was regarded as a quaint sort of oddity, and gently tolerated because I was a guiri (slang for a foreigner) from a a far-off country where people were prone to do weird things.
However, much to my delight, I discovered that Spanish dentists did know how to fill teeth quite well. When I visited the dentist and asked for a check-up with an X-ray, it was possible to get one. However, first it was necessary to revive the dentist, who had fainted from shock at such a strange request.
Fortunately, this state of affairs eventually changed. Over the years, as I kept going to the dentist, I was saw how attitudes toward dentists gradually evolved. Today there are dental clinics on every corner, whose publicity trades on the social value of having a beautiful smile. Everyone wants to take an attractive selfie.
I have colleagues of a mature age, who have whitened their teeth and even put braces on them. Some have had implants to replace the teeth that they so blithely pulled in their youth. Globalization is not all bad.
However, in Times of Coronavirus, a visit to the dentist is no longer quite the way that it used to be. Dentists here have also had to adapt to the ‘new normal’.
I discovered this yesterday when my dental clinic finally opened again after the quarantine. An appointment that I had in March was cancelled because of the lockdown. This left me with a temporary filling, which should have only lasted for a week but miraculously lasted for three months. My appointment was finally rescheduled for yesterday at 10:00.
Since the clinic is on the other side of town, I felt as though I would be journeying to Nepal. It was my first expedition outside my neighborhood since confinement began.
Even though Granada is still in Phase 0 of the de-escalation process, and most businesses are still closed, it is permissible to go to the doctor or dentist. Although the dental clinic was about an hour’s walk, I decided to take the bus because it was supposed to rain. This was also my first bus ride in three months.
Masks are now obligatory in public transportation, and everyone must keep a social distance. Since there were so few people going anywhere, the number of people was not an issue in the bus. However, one would-be traveler was left stranded on the bus stop because he was not wearing a mask. Fortunately, he was able to scuttle off to a pharmacy to find one because now masks are widely available.
When he could not get on the bus, he did not start screaming about civil liberties or his right to infect others. Whether one agrees or not, masks are obligatory in publication transportation. This is the law throughout Spain, and no one is above the law.
The bus ride through town was like a trip through the ‘Wasteland” of T. S. Eliot. Almost all businesses and hotels were closed and many had ‘For Rent’ signs in their windows. The ride took a much shorter time than usual because there was no traffic.
Arriving too early was a mistake. Since the dental clinic no longer has a waiting room, everyone must arrive exactly on the dot or wait outside on the sidewalk. Only one patient is allowed in the clinic at a time. I would have waited at a café, but since there are no cafes open, I opted for a walk around the neighborhood.
The clinic is near the bullfighting ring, which normally would have had various bullfights scheduled because of the ‘Feria del Corpus Cristi’ in June. However, this year, neither the feria nor the bullfights are going to happen. I have my doubts that there will be any bull events in the near future since even the running of the bulls in Pamplona was cancelled. I wonder how Hemingway would have handled social distance.
The neighborhood around the bullring was even more desolate than mine. The only places that seemed to be buzzing with activity were the pharmacy, grocery store, and funeral parlor. There was a small square with a statue and benches, but no one was sitting on them because it is not allowed.
Although this rule is often broken, today everyone seemed to be obeying the law. Perhaps it is because all of us wish to get to Phase 1. However, not even the creative math of the government has been able to disguise the fact that the numbers are not improving. At best, they are staying about the same.
After checking out the bullring neighborhood for twenty minutes, I returned to the dental clinic, and found that I had arrived at exactly the right time. When I was able to enter, I had to stand in a taped-out square in the doorway where my temperature was taken two times. I thus discovered that my temperature was 35.9ºC. Fortunately, there is no penalty for having a temperature lower than normal.
Sanitizer was sprayed on my hands. My germless hands were then encased in plastic gloves, which were also sprayed with hand sanitizer. This seemed like a bit of an overkill, but rules are rules. After putting on shoe coverings, I was then declared germ-free. This purification rite bore a certain resemblance to those carried out in Ancient Rome by high priestesses serving the Goddess Vesta.
I was then asked for my personal data by the receptionist. This information was duly recorded, after which, I had to sign a paper saying that I did not have any coronavirus symptoms. Even though this document was probably about as binding as a ‘pinkie swear’, it seemed to give everyone a good feeling.
The dentist and her assistant then came out wearing more protective coverings than a pangolin with a triple layer of scales. It was a bit eerie since the clinic has rooms for six patients, and I was the only one there. I had to leave my jacket, purse, and glasses on a chair outside the door. Only after all of this was I able to successfully get my permanent filling and finally return home from my exciting adventure.
