Tell Me If This Hurts

5 years. 5 glorious years.

That’s how long it had been since I’d seen a dentist. Having been without dental insurance, the thought of having to pay a few hundred bucks out of pocket for some brute with a hydraulic toothbrush to clean my teeth seemed preposterous. My last visit was out of necessity caused by a clingy caramel that ripped an old filling from my molar about a year after graduation. I shelled out for the repair and a cleaning, but it was a good friend who did the work, so I felt better paying him than a stranger.

Circumstances have changed since I left college. I’ve had dental insurance for the last 3 years. I’ve been told by co-workers that it’s pretty good dental insurance. I nonetheless have avoided using it, because my teeth feel pretty good and I have been judicious in my stewardship over them. This spring I made the mistake of sharing that tidbit with a dental student, who predictably expressed his horror at my negligence. He did his best nagging mother routine, and by the time the conversation was over, I had resolved to get my tusks looked at just to be safe. I only have one set of teeth, right?

After my initial exam, it turns out I’m right about my teeth and gums being healthy, but many of my old silver cavities need replacement, including one that will require a crown. And since my dental insurance only covers half the cost of non-silver fillings, I am going to have to foot a large portion of this Mouth Renovation Project, which got underway this past Monday morning at 7:30 AM.

So it’s my first day back from vacation and I’m paying my dentist $400 to drill on my teeth/gums for 3 hours straight. I’m pretty sure the gums part was an accident, but seeing as how I had enough Novocain in my face to numb a rhino, I had no idea it was happening. This was not the average drilling expedition I was accustomed to as a teenager. I should have known it was about to get messy when the technician handed me a pair of goggles at the start and told me to put them on for my protection. I thought he was joking. By the end of the session, the goggles were covered with silver and porcelain and tooth and spittle and who knows what else. I was informed that the crown they had placed on my back molar was only a temporary while the permanent tooth was molded, and that I should avoid eating solid foods until I came back to get the permanent attached next week. The early morning drilling was just the beginning of my bad mouth day.

Because of the 3-hour drill-a-thon, I was an hour late to work. For lunch, I found a place that serves soup and got a large bowl of chicken gumbo. I luvz the gumbo, so I was happy. Until I took the first spoonful and realized I couldn’t taste it because at 1:30 in the afternoon, my mouth was still completely numb. I quickly wolfed it down anyway, something I regretted around 3 PM when feeling was restored to my mouth. Apparently the soup had been way too hot and I had burned all of my taste buds to ash. Now everything I ate tasted like I was tossing the Tin Man’s salad. When I got home that evening and looked at my mouth in the mirror, it was like a horror movie. Around the tooth with the crown, the gums were all red and bloodied. In addition, I guess I had also bitten into my cheek at lunch, and had a pinky-nail sized blood blister to prove it. And the canker sore I'd developed on my bottom lip from rubbing on my incisor tooth for three hours was inflamed and whiney. I may as well have gargled with gasoline and sat down for a smoke. At least then I could be on America’s Got Talent or something. Why did I think I needed to go to the dentist again?