Thursday, June 23, 2016

LXXIV. En la Oficina de la Dentista

At the Dentist's Office

Ever since we moved to México we have been meaning to see a dentist...I guess “meaning to see a dentist” is probably a common state in which many of us dwell.

Waiting room. The seven year-old son of the receptionist, not
My informed wife ascertained that THE dentist to see around these parts is Dr. Haro—the “h” is not pronounced—Cockney-like—so make that, ‘Aro. The man’s main office is in the nearby metropolis of Guadalajara, but he carefully vets those who work under his name, so the nearby Ajijic clinic is equally well-recommended.

After mucho procrastinación, yesterday we finally had our teeth attended to. “Attending to” mostly meant having a good cleaning, as well as a loosely phrased “check up”, with x-rays as needed—less of an issue for me, with my ugly but strong Neanderthal-gened chompers, than for my wife, who has sensitive teeth.

Dr. Bianca's domain. Many professionals in México seem to
go by their title and first name.
We were impressed by the modernity of the office suites (lots of frosted glass, white-on-white color scheme with black leather and chrome accents, minimalist fountains and abstract art), and the care and courteous professionalism of the staff. There were quite possibly all of the past several years' copies of a "luxury lifestyle" magazine, Departures, in the waiting room, but barely enough time there to find the table of contents of even one. 

All the work was done by a DDS, Dr. Bianca, whose up-to-date equipment included a clever little camera capable of taking quick and vivid close-ups of my receding gums and then having them shown back to me in all their gnarliness.

The total cost of this work was less than $50 US, for both of us together. Even compared to our "Best of Seattle" dentist we agreed this was good deal. 

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