Why I'm an anti-Dentite

My first dentist was Lester Luntz, DDS -- a guy who was so good at his job that there's actually a Lester Luntz Award. Oh, Dr. Luntz! You spoiled me forever.

When I was a little girl, my mother and brother and I used to drive into downtown Hartford, park in the Civic Center garage (which my own father inspected, so I knew it was safe, even though it was the first underground garage in the city!) Then we'd walk over to Pearl Street and spend a lovely hour with Dr. Luntz. He said I had beautiful teeth. Not one cavity! Then, if we were lucky, and we didn't get fluoride treatments, my mother would buy us vanilla frozen yogurts afterward. (Oh, the old days... Dr. Luntz didn't use latex gloves and frozen yogurt was a novelty.)

Back then, Hartford was booming -- with new pink granite towers on every corner. So it wasn't a big surprise when a real-estate developer named Anthony Cuteia bought Dr. Luntz's office building with plans to tear it down and build the tallest building in Hartford, called The Cutter Tower. And I guess Dr. Luntz saw this as an opportunity to give up his living patients and devote himself to his passion, which was forensic dentistry. (Interestingly, his son is Republican pollster Frank Luntz...) So he retired. And the Cutter Tower never was built.

Fortunately, one of my mother's childhood friends was also a dentist -- and Dr. Tom was pretty good too. Still, no cavities! So that was nice -- and it lasted through college. But then I moved down to Florida, and that's where it all pretty much went to hell.

My first dentist down there had a bee-yoo-tiful office on the St. Lucie River with floor-to-ceiling windows. You could recline in his chair, watch the pelicans soar by, and listen to Enya on his office Bose speakers. It was verrry nice -- and you have to wonder how he afforded it, huh?

Insurance fraud!!

My second dentist down there was recommended by my good friend Noah, who, it turns out, chose her because she had "small hands." Jesus! If I had only known... First she tried to sell me on all sorts of (expensive) cosmetic procedures. ("Your teeth do have a caved-in look," my then-boyfriend agreed.) When that failed, she told me I had four cavities. As if! My third dentist, a very nice man in a 70's-style office on Dixie Highway, spen the next five years looking for those cavities.

Moved to D.C. Found one loser. Then found one that does me just fine. He's insane, but competent. Last time I saw him, he was swooning with grief: "Rochelle left me!" he gasped. "After 15 years together! Fifteen wonderful years. And she walked out on me while I was in the hospital! I'm lying there in a HOSPITAL bed and she's telling me, on the PHONE, that it's time for her to move on!" "My God!" I said. "How horrible!" ("Jesus Christ..." I thought. "Are his hands shaking?") It took me 15 minutes to realize he was talking about his receptionist!

Anyway, that all brings me to today's news. My crazy dentist's partner looked Lucy's teeth and found...NOTHING!! Can you fucking believe it? Yesterday, this loser wih a dog tie and horn-rimmed glasses tells me she needs two hours in an operating room under general anethesia. Today, Dr. D says, "Are you crazy?"

Total score:
Five good dentists.
Four bad ones.

Now, is that anything to smile at??