“Hello, Jessica! It’s so nice to see you!” says the dental hygienist. Slowly, I roll Jessica into the small bay, where she will duke it out with the hygienist and me for the next hour. You are familiar with the size of the compact dental treatment room, which contains the chair, tools, and shelving.  Add a wheelchair, Jessica’s aide, and me, and it’s seriously snug.  I’m sure dental hygienist schools did not have a rule book for cleaning Jessica’s teeth.  Yet, every 3 months, the hygienist creates a new page to her manual called “dodging the bite, head turns and arm flail while using sharp instruments.”  It’s sure to be a best-seller!

Jessica

Born with significant disabilities and a rare diagnosis, Jessica is not considered your typical patient. Fortunately, we are close to a dental office that caters to those who are, for lack of better words, not in any “how to” books.

The Visit

We park Jessica’s wheelchair behind the dental chair and start our preparation. I snap my large blue gloves onto my hands, knowing they bring little protection. My bag of tricks includes my singing voice (apologies given to the dental office in advance) and phone to play Eminem, Jessica’s favorite. Jessica has a personal care aide from her group home who assists by holding Jessica’s hands.

For the last two visits, I added another strategy. Before the hygienist enters Jessica’s mouth, I tell Jessica that I will count to ten, and then we will all remove our hands to give Jess a break.  This works well, if only for a short moment. Jessica is on to us! The moments when Jessica looks at us with “OMG! You guys are so lame” scrolling through her head. 

I started using this method when Jessica was fighting me about getting out of the wheelchair.  I looked her in the eye and said, “On the count of three, I am going to help you stand so we can transfer to the car for a ride.”  Jessica HEARS me and LISTENS; she is a willing partner in the transfer from wheelchair to car.

Jessica is smart; she understands much more than we will ever know.  I often think how frustrating it must be for Jess.  Is she screaming inside, “I know what is going on, but I can’t show you?” “I understand you, but I am fighting you at the dentist’s office because I don’t want people in my mouth?”  “I am fighting you to get out of the chair because you haven’t told me what I am doing or where I am going. Is she screaming all the explicit words that Eminem taught her without a sound leaving her lips?

I reflect on this while holding Jessica’s mouth open when the hygienist says, “We are done!” Dripping in sweat, yes, this is physically and emotionally taxing. I removed my ripped blue gloves and thanked the hygienist for her patience and persistence. One day, maybe she will write a book, too! But she cannot call it Raising Jess!

Are We Done, Yet?

Jessica returns to her happy self as we roll out of the dental bay. She communicates her joy through screams of glee, massive hugs, gentle kisses on my cheek, hand-holding, and a smile. She is bursting with love for all those who are in her corner. Jessica understands so much more than she can show us. We all need to remember that every single day.