My sister Ann has little corn teeth--at least some of them. Like the tips of candycorn, when she smiled, as a child, one was immediately reminded of Halloween. For Ann, this was a public embarrassment. Most of her adolescent photographs have her looking closed mouthed and perturbed.
In later life, the little corn teeth, which I found impish and endearing, were "fixed". However, her soft-toothed genetics have caused her many crowns and caps and overall dental hell. For this, I am truly sorry --glad that her job as a nurse allows her continued dental repair. Recently, she was in torment as one of those old corn teeth needed to be harvested...
My mother's teeth have always been a cause of fright--for her children.
When my mother was young, she had a wide gap between her front teeth. In those days, the answer was to fill the gap with "a partial"--a false tooth set-up with wires that connected the false teeth to the other teeth and allowed for snappy "in and out" action. My mother was thrilled with the dental "fix".
(However, it has always caused her moments of anxiety,so much so, that in her will, ANY dental needs, cosmetic or otherwise, will be taken care of, for life, for her three grand-daughters...)
My siblings and I remember our mother going ballistic, often, when we were little. One of her demonic tricks was to "snap out" the partial and bare her spaced-out teeth. She resembled nothing less than a ghoulish monster--not quite an evil witch and not quite a vampire--but decidedly something to dread. She could clear the kitchen in a single open-mouthed grin. (She now admits that upon one or two occasions, she may have "let the partial drop", just for "fun"..."as a joke"...) To us, it was no joke.
I believe much of my relationship with my mother may be based on the fact that I never knew which "Mom" I was relating to--nor when the "evil Mom" would appear in front of me--gap toothed and grinning. On the other hand, perhaps my fascination with all things slightly creepy--including vampires--began with my mother's partial???
Dad went into the dentist with excruciating jaw pain two weeks ago. He is already on severe pain meds for his back and hips, so this pain had to be debilitating to cause him to shed tears. As he mouthed his supper, wincing, he begged my mother to call the dentist. (I wanted her to call the emergency line, but she, insisting it was "a Wednesday and no doctor is around on a Wednesday night..." wouldn't make the request until the next morning.) So, Dad grinned, ground his steak into swallowable hash and wiped the occasional tear from his eye.
Next day, he went into the dentist. Luckily, the oral surgeon's practice was next door. They took him immediately. Zing zing zing. The oral surgeon offered a special "three for two" deal--three of dad's remaining natural teeth out,for the price of two extractions. (Dad has always jumped at deals.)
When he came home, half his face swollen to pumpkin size, the other half loose and bleeding, he resembled Mom on her "evil days".
"At least he doesn't have dentures," Mom said, bringing him ice.
(At least.)
I know that in the last two and a half years, I have been grinding my teeth in my sleep. Stress will do that. Sometimes, I wake myself up. However damaging this may be, I have not had dental insurance for a long time. A firm believer in all things hygienic, I have always taken good care of my teeth.
Because I had a front line of straight pearly whites, as a child (though the back teeth look like silver bullets...1950's family-friend dental care fillings...), unlike my siblings, I never was the proud recipient of corrective braces. My smile has always been deemed : passable. But, this stress-induced grinding has ground me down.
I knew something had to give.
I woke up with a bloody taste in my mouth and a hole in the back tooth that I could fit a gumball into.
Dad's recent trip to the dentist cost him almost seven hundred dollars per tooth! (And that was with decent insurance!) Ann's little tooth- ache involved a crown and oral surgery, too, and ended up closer to two thousand dollars!
I believed that I would have to endure, perhaps loading a Chiclet and some Krazy Glue into the hole in my back molar...
While subbing at the High School, I saw a flyer posted for the Gardner Dental Clinic. The add proclaimed that this state-funded enterprise turned no one away for lack of funds. No one.
I was someone who lacked funds and had an immediate need...I tucked the flyer into my notebook and promptly forgot about it.
Until my tooth began to scream.
(A high-pitched, bloody, throbbing sound that moved from my inner ear to my outer-brain stem in syncopated time.)
I dug out the flyer and made the appointment.
"Soonest we can take you, Ms. Minns, is in December--" the secretary was clicking away on her computer.
"Oh, please, this is my wisdom tooth. I think I broke it off!" I was pleading.
"Wait...okay...there's an appointment in two weeks..."
I could have kissed her.
By the grace of God, or the Tooth Fairy, or some being of light and compassion,(as well as the receptionist), I knew I only had to hold on for another fourteen days. I scarfed aspirin and ibuprofen, avoiding all things crisp or crunchy, and slept only on my back. Any nagging fears about the clinic, having a tooth removed, being chastised for neglecting my dental health for two years, etc. were forgotten. I was going to have the pain removed! O joy! O ecstasy ! O delight!
Anyone who has ever experienced mouth pain from a broken, infected, impacted or just plain rotten tooth, will understand--even wince as they read this. (Poor Dad! Poor Mom! Poor Ann!) Anyone who has suffered through years of braces or dentures or even a chancre sore, knows of which I speak.
Swallowing my pride as an unemployed/partially employed professional, I filled out all forms post haste, flashed my photo i.d. and state-health card. I was immediately whisked down a labyrinthian corridor, into the tiniest office I'd ever visited. There, a jolly technician sat me down in the enormous chair. She proceeded to take an x-ray and chuckle at my nervous banter.
A few minutes later, a spry, muscle-bound, gray-haired dentist entered the room. (Why are all the dentists I've had been spry and muscle-bound?) He introduced himself as Dr. Cohen. We shook hands--after which he immediately put on rubber gloves. Then, he showed me, via his computer screen, what looked like the Rocky Mountains at dusk.
"Your crown is completely shattered...it's gotta come out, right now...we need you to sign the release and to know it can go two ways: first, I get a good grip and it pops right out...or second, it smashes into shards and we have severe problems...."
Shards???????????????????????????????????
(I thought of Ann and her little corn teeth. I thought of Mom and her monster fangs. I thought of Dad and his bargain-striking oral surgeon...)
I signed the release.
Dr. Cohen and his nurse shot me full of fast-acting novacaine (or something similar). Immediately, I couldn't even swallow. No spit. No blood. Just dry breath--which I concentrated on--just breathe--just breathe--just breathe.
After minutes of this mantra, Dr. Cohen was suddenly above me, looking down. (Or what I could see without my glasses.) His fuzzy face told me: Relax!
I closed my eyes.
I thought of the Dali Lama--of St. Francis and St. Michael and St. Joan--of my animal totems and walking in the woods by a flowing stream and----
"Done!" Dr, Cohen literally shouted from behind my head.
I'd noticed the grinding ripping sounds coming from the vicinity of my mouth. I'd felt the pressure of his thick finger pressing my broken tooth (as well as the crowbar he used to loosen it), but thank God, no pain.
No pain.
Suddenly there was gauze filling up the hole in my jaw. A brief taste of tin. Warnings about what not to drink or eat or do for the next twenty-four hours, and what to do if I ignored these warnings.
I hopped down from the big chair.
I shook both the tech's hands and Dr. Cohen's.
"You're like a Civil War dentist!" I slapped him on the back.
"How so?" Dr. Cohen looked up from my chart.
"Fast and effective!" I tried to grin but just managed to drool.
I thanked them both, again, and headed out into the humid afternoon, undrugged, a little bruised, but mostly relieved.
(On the way out, I did request that they not make any jewelry from my molar.)
In later life, the little corn teeth, which I found impish and endearing, were "fixed". However, her soft-toothed genetics have caused her many crowns and caps and overall dental hell. For this, I am truly sorry --glad that her job as a nurse allows her continued dental repair. Recently, she was in torment as one of those old corn teeth needed to be harvested...
My mother's teeth have always been a cause of fright--for her children.
When my mother was young, she had a wide gap between her front teeth. In those days, the answer was to fill the gap with "a partial"--a false tooth set-up with wires that connected the false teeth to the other teeth and allowed for snappy "in and out" action. My mother was thrilled with the dental "fix".
(However, it has always caused her moments of anxiety,so much so, that in her will, ANY dental needs, cosmetic or otherwise, will be taken care of, for life, for her three grand-daughters...)
My siblings and I remember our mother going ballistic, often, when we were little. One of her demonic tricks was to "snap out" the partial and bare her spaced-out teeth. She resembled nothing less than a ghoulish monster--not quite an evil witch and not quite a vampire--but decidedly something to dread. She could clear the kitchen in a single open-mouthed grin. (She now admits that upon one or two occasions, she may have "let the partial drop", just for "fun"..."as a joke"...) To us, it was no joke.
I believe much of my relationship with my mother may be based on the fact that I never knew which "Mom" I was relating to--nor when the "evil Mom" would appear in front of me--gap toothed and grinning. On the other hand, perhaps my fascination with all things slightly creepy--including vampires--began with my mother's partial???
Dad went into the dentist with excruciating jaw pain two weeks ago. He is already on severe pain meds for his back and hips, so this pain had to be debilitating to cause him to shed tears. As he mouthed his supper, wincing, he begged my mother to call the dentist. (I wanted her to call the emergency line, but she, insisting it was "a Wednesday and no doctor is around on a Wednesday night..." wouldn't make the request until the next morning.) So, Dad grinned, ground his steak into swallowable hash and wiped the occasional tear from his eye.
Next day, he went into the dentist. Luckily, the oral surgeon's practice was next door. They took him immediately. Zing zing zing. The oral surgeon offered a special "three for two" deal--three of dad's remaining natural teeth out,for the price of two extractions. (Dad has always jumped at deals.)
When he came home, half his face swollen to pumpkin size, the other half loose and bleeding, he resembled Mom on her "evil days".
"At least he doesn't have dentures," Mom said, bringing him ice.
(At least.)
I know that in the last two and a half years, I have been grinding my teeth in my sleep. Stress will do that. Sometimes, I wake myself up. However damaging this may be, I have not had dental insurance for a long time. A firm believer in all things hygienic, I have always taken good care of my teeth.
Because I had a front line of straight pearly whites, as a child (though the back teeth look like silver bullets...1950's family-friend dental care fillings...), unlike my siblings, I never was the proud recipient of corrective braces. My smile has always been deemed : passable. But, this stress-induced grinding has ground me down.
I knew something had to give.
I woke up with a bloody taste in my mouth and a hole in the back tooth that I could fit a gumball into.
Dad's recent trip to the dentist cost him almost seven hundred dollars per tooth! (And that was with decent insurance!) Ann's little tooth- ache involved a crown and oral surgery, too, and ended up closer to two thousand dollars!
I believed that I would have to endure, perhaps loading a Chiclet and some Krazy Glue into the hole in my back molar...
While subbing at the High School, I saw a flyer posted for the Gardner Dental Clinic. The add proclaimed that this state-funded enterprise turned no one away for lack of funds. No one.
I was someone who lacked funds and had an immediate need...I tucked the flyer into my notebook and promptly forgot about it.
Until my tooth began to scream.
(A high-pitched, bloody, throbbing sound that moved from my inner ear to my outer-brain stem in syncopated time.)
I dug out the flyer and made the appointment.
"Soonest we can take you, Ms. Minns, is in December--" the secretary was clicking away on her computer.
"Oh, please, this is my wisdom tooth. I think I broke it off!" I was pleading.
"Wait...okay...there's an appointment in two weeks..."
I could have kissed her.
By the grace of God, or the Tooth Fairy, or some being of light and compassion,(as well as the receptionist), I knew I only had to hold on for another fourteen days. I scarfed aspirin and ibuprofen, avoiding all things crisp or crunchy, and slept only on my back. Any nagging fears about the clinic, having a tooth removed, being chastised for neglecting my dental health for two years, etc. were forgotten. I was going to have the pain removed! O joy! O ecstasy ! O delight!
Anyone who has ever experienced mouth pain from a broken, infected, impacted or just plain rotten tooth, will understand--even wince as they read this. (Poor Dad! Poor Mom! Poor Ann!) Anyone who has suffered through years of braces or dentures or even a chancre sore, knows of which I speak.
Swallowing my pride as an unemployed/partially employed professional, I filled out all forms post haste, flashed my photo i.d. and state-health card. I was immediately whisked down a labyrinthian corridor, into the tiniest office I'd ever visited. There, a jolly technician sat me down in the enormous chair. She proceeded to take an x-ray and chuckle at my nervous banter.
A few minutes later, a spry, muscle-bound, gray-haired dentist entered the room. (Why are all the dentists I've had been spry and muscle-bound?) He introduced himself as Dr. Cohen. We shook hands--after which he immediately put on rubber gloves. Then, he showed me, via his computer screen, what looked like the Rocky Mountains at dusk.
"Your crown is completely shattered...it's gotta come out, right now...we need you to sign the release and to know it can go two ways: first, I get a good grip and it pops right out...or second, it smashes into shards and we have severe problems...."
Shards???????????????????????????????????
(I thought of Ann and her little corn teeth. I thought of Mom and her monster fangs. I thought of Dad and his bargain-striking oral surgeon...)
I signed the release.
Dr. Cohen and his nurse shot me full of fast-acting novacaine (or something similar). Immediately, I couldn't even swallow. No spit. No blood. Just dry breath--which I concentrated on--just breathe--just breathe--just breathe.
After minutes of this mantra, Dr. Cohen was suddenly above me, looking down. (Or what I could see without my glasses.) His fuzzy face told me: Relax!
I closed my eyes.
I thought of the Dali Lama--of St. Francis and St. Michael and St. Joan--of my animal totems and walking in the woods by a flowing stream and----
"Done!" Dr, Cohen literally shouted from behind my head.
I'd noticed the grinding ripping sounds coming from the vicinity of my mouth. I'd felt the pressure of his thick finger pressing my broken tooth (as well as the crowbar he used to loosen it), but thank God, no pain.
No pain.
Suddenly there was gauze filling up the hole in my jaw. A brief taste of tin. Warnings about what not to drink or eat or do for the next twenty-four hours, and what to do if I ignored these warnings.
I hopped down from the big chair.
I shook both the tech's hands and Dr. Cohen's.
"You're like a Civil War dentist!" I slapped him on the back.
"How so?" Dr. Cohen looked up from my chart.
"Fast and effective!" I tried to grin but just managed to drool.
I thanked them both, again, and headed out into the humid afternoon, undrugged, a little bruised, but mostly relieved.
(On the way out, I did request that they not make any jewelry from my molar.)
No comments:
Post a Comment