I actually like going to the dentist.
Heavy-handed assistant aside, I've always had rather pleasurable experiences at the dentist. Growing up, we went every six months, religiously. Even in college. There may have been two years in there where I only went during the summer, but once I got married, it was back to every six months. Religiously. I actually found us a dentist before I found myself a doctor.
Sick, I know.
I love the feeling of clean teeth. I love the look of whiter teeth.
Now, I'm not the greatest caretaker of my teeth, but I definitely don't neglect them. I use a Sonicare, but I'm not a career flosser. I usually only floss regularly for a couple of weeks after my latest appointment and the week before my next appointment.
(Please tell me I'm not the only person who does this!)
The weirdest thing about me liking the dentist so much is that if anyone has reason to dislike having somebody stick metal instruments in her mouth, it's me.
I've had permanent teeth pulled. I've had wisdom teeth dug out.
I've had braces. Twice.
And oral surgery. Extensive enough surgery that my jaw was broken, moved, and screwed back together. Extensive enough surgery that two screws were drilled into my jaw from the skin-side (and yes, for a awhile I could actually feel the tiny screw heads with my fingers when I ran my fingers over the skin on my jaw). Extensive enough surgery that it took an entire year for all of the swelling to go down.
And yet, I still like going to the dentist.
I don't like the actual process of having my teeth cleaned, but I've developed coping mechanisms, which usually involve grabbing onto the bottom of my shirt so I can discreetly clench my fists when needed.
I like having the dentist come over and check my teeth. I like that he likes looking at my x-rays and commenting on all the metal in my mouth. I like that he agrees that the surgery was worth it.
And I love, Love, LOVE running my tongue over my smooth, clean teeth.
That feeling alone makes it all worth it.