It’s an unusual day at the CROWN dental clinic. The public transport strike has emptied the waiting room, and the schedule is suddenly wide open. Dr. Crown decides to take advantage of this rare moment of calm to do something she has been postponing for far too long: her first dental cleaning.

She settles into the chair, observing the reflection of the instruments under the bright light. She tries to appear relaxed, but her body tells a different story. Her hands, carefully placed on her lap, are clasped tightly together, with her thumbs nervously brushing against her knuckles. Her legs, crossed with an air of nonchalance, press together slightly, betraying a tension she struggles to conceal.

Her colleague begins with a meticulous examination, moving with precise and professional gestures. When he switches to the ultrasonic scaler, the buzzing vibration fills the room. Crown tenses for a moment but quickly tries to relax. Her eyes, usually confident and authoritative, wander over the light or the instruments, searching for a neutral point to focus on. She doesn’t want to show her discomfort; she has to maintain the image of someone who knows the trade inside out.

When the colleague moves to the manual instruments, the rhythm changes. It’s slow, precise, almost hip otic . Crown remains silent, her breathing controlled and steady, as if trying to sync it with his movements. Her hands, however, clasp each other a little tighter, while her eyes follow every gesture with a mix of attention and subtle nervousness. Her composure is flawless, but an attentive observer might notice the silent signals her body sends. There’s no pain, just a discomfort that makes her feel out of place in that chair. And she hates feeling that way.

MY FIRST CLEANING

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