Just A Gal From Glidden: Still afraid. Still showing up. (Preferably at 2:30.)

By Kate Winquist

Let’s face it. No one likes going to the dentist.

Well… maybe the odd person.

A very odd person.

When I was little and it was time for a dental appointment, I was absolutely terrified. I’m not entirely sure why, but our family dentist was in Saskatoon. Dr. Chayka was his name. His office was in one of those grand old character buildings downtown. I can still picture the heavy wooden door with his name etched on the glass.

And the smell.

You know the one. Clean… but not just clean. Hospital-clean. Disinfectant-clean. A scent that says, “We’re going to help you,” but also whispers, “This might sting a little.”

Dr. Chayka, from what I remember, was a large man dressed head to toe in white. I recall lying back in that chair, staring up at the ceiling tiles, trying to find shapes or hidden objects in the speckled pattern to distract myself from the needle and whatever mysterious tools were clinking nearby.

The best part? The milkshake afterward.

Nothing says childhood bravery like being frozen from the nose down and slurping a milkshake through a straw. If we were really living large, there might even be a stop at Westgate Plaza before heading back to the farm. Dental trauma softened by retail therapy and ice cream. A winning combination.

Fast-forward to last week.

I finally went for my annual cleaning. It had been… a while. My last check-up was January 2025, so technically I wasn’t that far behind. I had successfully ignored a couple of polite text reminders. But then the girls at reception outsmarted me with an actual phone call.

I felt cornered.

And guilty.

So I said, “Fine. Book me in.”

Thursday morning arrived. I was suddenly the most dedicated dental patient in west central Saskatchewan. Extra brushing. Extra flossing. A vigorous gargle of mouthwash. My appointment was at 10:30 a.m., which immediately reminded me of the groaner my Dad used to deliver anytime someone mentioned the dentist.

“What’s the best time to go to the dentist?”

2:30.

Get it? Tooth-hurty.

It’s terrible. And yet… unforgettable.

I was greeted by Nicole, the cheerful hygienist who handled my last cleaning as well. We went through the usual checklist — any problems, medication changes, recent dental work. X-rays were taken. The verdict? Mostly good. She kindly spared me the full flossing lecture after I admitted I’m not as faithful with the string as I should be.

I traded my regular glasses for the oversized cool shades, reclined back, accepted the suction wand and surrendered to the process.

The new Kindersley Dental Clinic doesn’t have ceiling tiles with hidden objects to study, but I found a different distraction — the music.

Up popped Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus, instantly transporting me back to my line-dancing days in Lethbridge. It’s one of those songs you either love or absolutely cannot stand. There is no middle ground. Nicole and I had a good chuckle over that one.

Then, just before we were finished, another memory floated through the speakers: When You Say Nothing At All — the Alison Krauss version. I told Nicole it was Robert’s and my first dance at our wedding.

“Awwww,” she said.

And just like that, I was no longer counting the seconds until I could rinse and suction. I was remembering a dance floor, a white dress and a pretty wonderful day.

Maybe the dentist isn’t so bad after all.

Just like when I was a kid, I even got to choose the flavour of the polishing paste. I wanted cherry, but apparently I am alone in that preference. Cherry and grape rank at the bottom, according to Nicole. My options were orange, mint or raspberry.

I went with boring mint.

Somehow that felt like the responsible adult thing to do.

I do have a small filling that needs fixing, so I’ll be back on March 19. I’m considering asking if they can switch my appointment to 2:30 p.m.

After all… Dad would insist it’s the best time.

Tooth-hurty and all.