I went to my dentist a few weeks ago, reminding myself I have been meaning to write a few blog posts about dentists I have known.

At one time, my wife and I used a dentist named “Dr. Nixon.” Actually, President Richard Nixon had a brother who was a dentist, but I am pretty sure our dentist was not that Nixon. After we moved to Oregon for a while, we ended up with a dentist in Beaverton, Oregon who told us that Dr. Nixon did terrible work.

When we moved to the Hawthorne Blvd area of Portland, east of the Willamette River (which divides the city in two), our Beaverton dentist referred me to a female dentist a few blocks from our new home. It was the first female dentist I ever had, and I loved the experience. I don’t like going to the dentist any more than anyone else, but having a woman as my dentist gave me a comforting feeling of Mother, take care of me as I leaned back in the chair and submitted to the drill.

When we moved back to Washington, my daughter recommended a dentist she and Mommy (her partner) used in downtown Seattle. “Oh, I should mention, he’s gay,” she mentioned, though that was not a concern to me one way or another. Our Seattle dentist operated a large busy office with another [gay] dentist high up in a medical office building.

These dentists were very high-tech and attentive to detail in regard to patient comfort and safety. I was given my own personal mask to bring in for nitrous oxide (“laughing gas”) so my mask would never be contaminated by contact with another face. In the waiting area, a rack held several hundred music CDs. Patients chose a disk to provide music piped into earphones while the dentist worked.

I am fairly certain that every hygienist , assistant, and receptionist was also gay. I will indulge in the stereotype of saying this office has a certain atmosphere and elegance one is unlikely to find in the average dental office.

That was my “city” dentist. In my next post, I will describe the “country” dentist I now have on the island.