Keeping the ol’ toothies clean
I saw it on a commercial back in the day and immediately wanted one. The red fire hydrant sprinkler, it’s stout cylindrical body and yellow top standing at attention until you turned the hose on, and then all bets were frigging off because the water would come out and spray everyone, everywhere, all at once.
The hydrant never made it to my childhood home. But we did have a long, green hose that connected to the spigot at the back of the house, and a kid would inevitably jam their thumb into the tube as the water streamed out, making it shoot in an arc across the yard.
The 90s were weird. And damp.
But now, thanks to the water flosser that my dentist recommended, it feels like I finally have one of the fire hydrant sprinklers. Or the Crazy Daisy. Or someone is putting their thumb over the hose and spraying water all over the bathroom vanity mirror. Because water flossing is not a controlled experience.
“Is it normal for the water to go everywhere?” I asked the hygienist at my cleaning last week.
She didn’t stop scraping at my teeth, but instead held her hand in my mouth, right at the back molar, thinking. She sported the dental loupes — glasses with periscope-esque tubes stuck to the lenses, allowing her to stand perfectly straight, head held high, while the glasses shifted her vision toward my through-the-tubes-magnified teeth — which made the conversation feel like I was talking with a robot.
“I can’t think of a way to do it without water going everywhere,” she continued. “You have to have your mouth a little bit open so you can see what you’re doing, unless you figure it all out by feel, but that takes time. Until you get comfortable and confident, you’ll be wiping down the bathroom mirror.”
“Guh,” I agreed, afraid to nod.
The water flosser (or WaterPik, if you’re a brand girlie, which I am not, so I’ll call it the Wacky Wahtah Flossah in an R-droppin’ homage to Rhode Island) is good for my dental health. I’m a big fan of brushing my teeth because it helps keep the blood sugar sweaters off them and also because minty is better than whatever adjective you’d assign to the opposite. Over the years, the wear and tear of existing has meant upping my oral care regimen, which is why I bought the Wacky Wahtah Flossah.
It’s fun? You’re encouraged to fill it with warm water and then use the feathery plastic attachment to clean between your teeth. And then as the slightly pressurized water shoots out, it also ricochets and splatters all over the sink and mirror.
My mouth is super clean. My bathroom counter is permanently damp1 (like the aforementioned 90s).
“But whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Your teeth look great,” the hygienist said.
“Fank ou,” I said, smiling. Diabetes has made me very fastidious about my oral health and when I think about all the stupid shit I do by way of proactive care (regular cleanings, flossing all the time, wahtah flossah, night guard, the Clinipro toothpaste I ordered from the interwebs), I’m really glad it’s working. At least for now. My smile widened with pride.
“Oh, close just a little?”
“Guh,” I said, suppressing my smile into a flat line that matched the six hour CGM graph (but please, for the love of God, don’t zoom out to that 24 hr view).
