September 21–27, 2002 — Of mice and dental hygiene

I haven’t been to the dentist in about a year now. I can feel my gums receding. In a very literal sense, actual — my teeth are becoming very sensitive to hot and cold, and I can see the areas that are getting the worst of it.

Knowing that nothing short of surgery will reverse this has been bothering me for awhile now, and knowing that I won’t be able to afford surgery for quite awhile yet doesn’t help matters. But more than that, I’ve been getting more and more upset at myself for instances of laziness in taking care of myself that have resulted in permanent damage.

So, while I’ve long since given up on saving my hands and arms, I figure it might not be too late to slow the deterioration of my oral hygiene. For the first time in years, I’m trying to floss everyday and to rinse with my alcohol-free mouthwash afterward.

I get the feeling that whatever I do, though, I’m going to get a good yelling at from my dentist in November. (My parents scheduled me for one last appointment before my twenty-first birthday when I’m no longer covered by my dad’s insurance plan.)

Meanwhile, when I’m not staring at my gum line in the mirror and feeling death approaching as my body slowly decays, I have my landlord and her husband to make me realize that things are only going to get worse the longer I’m alive.

My landlord called me downstairs the other day and asked me to disconnect her VCR. She didn’t explain why, but I find that not asking questions and doing exactly what I’m told to do is the quickest way for me to get back upstairs and in front of my computer.

She eventually explained why I was unhooking the VCR, though: Because of his stroke, her husband is still unable to read, and he spends almost all of his waking hours watching TV. This was not news to me. As it turns out, though, he has been having problems with their new remote control because it is a three-in-one remote that controls the VCR and cable box as well. And if he accidentally hits the button that changes control over to the VCR, he can’t watch TV anymore. This has happened several times, and she thought unplugging the VCR would fix it.

I explained that unplugging the VCR wouldn’t fix anything and recommended that she buy a new remote control that would control only the TV. She agreed, explaining that her husband had asked her to come home from relatives’ houses several times because the remote had stopped working. Without TV to watch and with nothing else he could do, he spent his time looking at the illustrated books that they keep in the living room for their grandchildren.

After returning to my room, I wanted nothing more than to sleep and to forget the conversation I had just taken part in: Life’s a lot easier when I’m able to ignore the fact that being part of humanity means having my physical health on a more or less steady decline from here on out.

A few days later I was having trouble sleeping. I had moved around to the other end of my bed and I was watching the lights of my computer flashing. Then I spotted a mouse scurrying across my carpet and pulling its way up to the rim of my garbage bin so that it could inspect the inside.

The night before, Andrew and I had devised a trap that would keep a mouse alive after it was caught. It involved a large, pumpkin-shaped jar, a ramp fashioned from an IKEA box, a Kleenex, and a piece of a chocolate bar. The ramp led to the top of the trap; here, the chocolate acted as bait and was placed in the middle of the Kleenex, which would collapse into the jar when the mouse tried to take the chocolate.

The first night in Andrew’s room was a failure: The mouse took the chocolate and the Kleenex didn’t fall into the jar.

Not one to heed advice about watching a pot while it is trying to boil, I decided to keep a careful watch and to make sure that our second night would bring success.

Over the course of the next three hours, I had to reload the trap once after the Kleenex dropped too soon, and I had to line the ramp with chocolate to trick the mouse into eating his way to the top.

But it finally worked at around 4:00 am. I watched as the mouse stepped onto the Kleenex and dropped into the jar. I felt as though my intellectual superiority over mice had finally been proven.

Then the reality of sharing a room for the night with a mouse in a jar set in. Not only was there no one awake to share in my triumph, but I worried about the mouse dying over the course of the night, and I knew I’d never be able to forgive myself were this to happen. I decided to set the mouse free.

I took the jar outdoors and tipped it on its side in our driveway. Then I watched as the mouse ran passed me, back into the house, and down into my landlord’s basement.

I followed the mouse back into the house and went to brush and floss my teeth. Not only are mice unaware of their own mortality (and of the necessity of proper dental hygiene), I thought, but they’re also much more cunning than I am.

I never expected to be envious of such a small mammal.